A Song of Silver
by EstelRaca
Summary: When Klavier is shot with a silver bullet, Apollo knows that someone is gunning for his pack-someone who knows things only the other alphas in the area should know. It's a crime he needs to solve before the full moon, but thankfully they have friends to help them, including some spirit mediums and a very confused soon-to-be-werewolf Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste.
1. Chapter 1: Blood and Bullets

**Author's Note:** This story is a sequel to "In the Moon's Image", an AU where Juniper is a werewolf who accidentally turns Apollo during the courtroom bombing incident. Reading that first will make this one a bit easier to follow. This story will feature Sebastian from Ace Investigations 2 as well as bring in Maya and Pearl. The story is more plot-focused than romance but both Klavier and Juniper are crushing a bit on Apollo. Because this series was started long before _Spirit of Justice_ had a US release it will probably not be _Spirit of Justice_ consistent.

 _ **Chapter One: Bonds and Bullets**_

There is something strange going on.

It started a little over three weeks ago, with the Thunder&Lightning case. Sebastian had been a little worried about Klavier taking the case—anything involving strife between band-mates still strikes a little too close to home for the rock-star prosecutor. Klavier had been adamant that he could handle it, though, and Prosecutor Edgeworth had thought Klavier's remaining contacts in the music industry may give him an edge when it came to finding information.

Klavier hadn't finished the case, though. It isn't often that Klavier has to stand down as prosecutor, and even _more_ rare for the Chief Prosecutor to personally take over a case. Edgeworth had promised that Klavier was all right when Sebastian pressed him for information, though, and three days later Klavier was back in his office, acting as though nothing happened.

"Just a small _erkrankung_ , Herr Erste." Klavier had smiled as he made the statement, and it was a _genuine_ smile, not one of his stage-door grins, so Sebastian had believed him.

Edgeworth has been cautious about handing work to Klavier, though, the usually-busy prosecutor allowed to take on perhaps half his usual allotment of cases. Edgeworth has been more _interested_ in Klavier than he usually is, stopping by Klavier's office once or twice a day to check on him. Though it's probably a good thing, the start of a friendship or mentorship like Klavier has always wanted but which the whole Phoenix Wright mess kept him from having, it's still strange.

Almost as strange as the way Klavier has been acting. At first Sebastian had thought that it was just traces of whatever ailment Klavier had suffered from lingering, as Klavier seemed to be more and more like himself with each passing day. For the last week or so, though...

Klavier has always been a tactile person. It's something Sebastian long ago learned to deal with—something that he appreciates about his friend, even. There were far too few hugs in his childhood, Sebastian has come to suspect, and Klavier seems determined to make up for that fact as quickly as possible.

Now, though, Klavier seems to _need_ the physical contact. If Sebastian is in the same room with him for more than five minutes, Klavier seems to gravitate into Sebastian's personal space, his hand reaching for Sebastian's hand, his arm attempting to loop itself over Sebastian's shoulders. He still notices when Sebastian tenses or becomes uncomfortable with the contact, but it's not as _quickly_ as it used to be—and the way Klavier pulls back when he realizes Sebastian is unhappy, apologizing and distressed, is far more upsetting to Sebastian than the contact itself.

Sebastian should probably talk to Klavier about it. He should probably press until Klavier actually opens up about what's been going on. It's _hard_ , though. Klavier has already been through so much over the last eighteen months, and if he says he's fine Sebastian wants to believe him, but...

Sebastian is still debating what he wants to do about the problem when he knocks on Klavier's office door before shoving it open. He knows that Klavier is in his office—the light is on, spilling out under the door—and he needs to cross-reference with one of the case files in Klavier's—

Sebastian blinks, stopping dead three paces into the office as his mind catches up to his eyes.

Klavier steps away from Detective Gumshoe, who he was apparently in the middle of hugging, the faintest flush crawling up his neck to stain his cheeks; the detective rises from his kneeling position in front of Klavier, his coat flapping about him, his right hand rising to touch the spot on his cheek where Klavier's cheek and chin were rubbing a moment ago.

"Hi, Prosecutor DeBeste!" Gumshoe wiggles his fingers in a brief wave, edging sideways toward the door as he does. "Nice to see you. Good luck on your trial tomorrow! I, um... I'll see you around, both of you."

Gumshoe manages to fit behind Sebastian and out the door, which is good, because Sebastian's legs seem to have forgotten how to move. The detective is very gentle as he closes the door, only the softest _click_ giving away the fact that he's done it.

"Good afternoon, Herr Erste." Klavier settles one hip on the edge of his desk, his fingers looped through the chain that he uses as a belt. "Is there something that I can help you with?"

Sebastian stares at Klavier, and worry and surprise undergo some strange alchemical process in his chest to become a brief flash of anger. "That's it? You're just going to pretend that nothing happened?"

Klavier's smile slips, and he leans away from Sebastian, his head ducking down, his whole body seeming to shrink in on the central axis. It's a far more extreme reaction than Sebastian expected, and anger gives way to worry once more.

"Klavier." Sebastian takes a step closer to his friend. "Something's going on. Something's _been_ going on for the last three, almost four weeks. Something that you won't tell Kay and I about, and it's... it's getting kind of scary. I'm _worried_ about you."

"I assure you, there is nothing to worry about. I'm really quite fine." Klavier shoves a hand up through his hair—his hair that is _loose_ , not tied back in any kind of braid or ponytail like it usually is.

Sebastian tries hard not to grind his teeth together. Cagey but kind has been Klavier's default mode since Daryan's betrayal. It just _stings_ , having somehow ended up on the outside looking in again despite all his efforts to help Klavier... efforts that were repayment for friendship Klavier had freely and easily given in the seven years before, but still.

"I'm upsetting you." Klavier stalks closer, moving in fluid, easy motions until he is deep inside Sebastian's personal space. His voice is low, his blue eyes bright and earnest as he reaches out to run a hand along Sebastian's cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm not intending to, I swear."

Taking a hasty step back, Sebastian shakes his head. "I just... I don't _understand_ , all right? What's going on with you? Why were you and Gumshoe..."

Sebastian finds that he isn't sure how to finish the sentence. Saying that Klavier was _making out_ with the detective is both untrue and something Sebastian's not sure he can manage. Though Sebastian knows that Klavier doesn't really differentiate between genders when developing a crush, Gumshoe is... he's _Gumshoe_. He's Prosecutor Edgeworth's shadow; he's _Sebastian's_ friend, more than he's ever been Klavier's, though Klavier usually gets along well with any detective he's partnered with.

"That did look rather compromising, didn't it?" Klavier paces away from Sebastian, continuing to toy with his bangs. Glancing down at his office door handle, Klavier gives a brief pout. "I suppose I'm going to have be more careful about locking my door."

"There aren't _that_ many people who are comfortable just coming into your office." Sebastian shrugs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "But I imagine Detective Skye or Prosecutor Edgeworth would have a similarly... dismayed reaction, so yes, if that's going to be a common occurrence, locking your door may be a good idea."

Emotion flickers across Klavier's face, too fast for Sebastian to follow. Exasperation? Annoyance? Frustration? _Humor?_

Pacing the length of his office again, Klavier scowls out the window at the late afternoon light. "It won't be a common occurrence. Don't worry. I was just comforting a friend."

"That's good. Comforting a friend is good." Sebastian's baton has ended up in his hands, and he slides the smooth metal between his fingers, taking comfort in the familiar feeling. "And if you and Detective Gumshoe have become good friends, I'm glad. Though if something's happening in his life, something that I should know about... something that I could help with..."

Klavier's lips pull back from his teeth, a grimace that is very obviously frustration, and he paces back to his office door, his steps fast and tense. He's upset, Sebastian knows from prior experience.

Is it good, that he's at least _showing_ that he's upset? Is it good that he hasn't ordered Sebastian to stop asking questions or to go back to his own office?

"You know that if there's anything you need... anything that's happening to you, or with you..." Sebastian speaks slowly, choosing each word carefully so he can ensure it's the right one, though they want to all run atop one another in a mad flurry. "You can trust me—talk to me. Kay, too, but since I'm the one currently invading your office..."

Klavier is back at the office window, and his body seems to be constantly _moving_ , one restless hand rising to press against the glass before being pulled away and shoved back into his belt. Turning abruptly, he fixes Sebastian with one of his sun-bright grins. "How would you feel about going up on the roof to continue this conversation, Sebastian?"

Sebastian blinks. When they were both young prosecutors with closets for offices, they spent a fair amount of time up on the roof when nothing pressing was occurring, enjoying the view and the weather when it was nice. Since their career and office advancements, it's something they haven't done as often.

"Please, Sebastian." Klavier stays carefully just outside Sebastian's personal space, though he reaches out to take Sebastian's hand in his. "I feel... very trapped here, right now, and it is not a good feeling."

"All right." Sebastian clings to Klavier's hand, glad to have Klavier reaching out to him—glad, strangely, to hear Klavier _admit_ something is making him feel anxious. "If you'd be happier, let's go up on the roof."

Klavier grins, releasing Sebastian's hand and bounding back to his desk. Picking up a small black hair tie, he gathers his blond mane into a simple ponytail.

Then he is back at Sebastian's side, has grabbed Sebastian's hand once more in a firm grip, and is leading them both out of Klavier's office and towards the stairs.

There is always at least a little bit of wind on the roof, it seems, and today is no exception. As soon as they push open the door, a blast of cool air rushes down into building, ruffling Sebastian's hair and flinging Klavier's up into a blond halo.

Klavier releases Sebastian's hand, bounding out onto the roof, his arms spread out to the side, his fingers crooked just slightly as though he could catch the wind and hold it in place. He closes his eyes, drawing deep breaths, and Sebastian finds himself pausing, tilting his head, trying to find whatever it is in the wind that is goading this reaction out of his friend.

After a few seconds Klavier lowers his arms, crossing them in front of his chest as he opens his eyes. His smile when he turns to Sebastian is bright, eager, filled with energy and fire, and it catches Sebastian's breath in his throat.

How long has it been since he saw Klavier smile like that? Just grin as though the whole world were _right_ , and his place in it perfect, and everything absolutely the way it should be? His first instinct is to say that it's been eighteen months, that this, too, is something Daryan stole from them, but in all honesty it was fading away long before that, ground down to dust on the stone of a broken justice system.

"The city smells glorious today, doesn't she, Sebastian?"

"Um..." Sebastian blinks, forcing himself to parse the accented words into a semblance of sense, trying to read beneath the utter overflowing joy that Klavier is expressing to find a _reason_. "It smells... pretty much like usual. Like smog."

Klavier's grin doesn't fade as he laughs, shaking his head. "I suppose it does, still. Car exhaust and fog and factory smoke and _people_... so many people in our city, Sebastian. So many people under our protection."

Klavier's smile does fade as he walks toward the edge of the roof, but it isn't grief or guilt or the smooth, guileless, emotionless bland mask that replaces it. The man who stalks to the shoulder-high fence that stands six inches or so from the edge of the roof is someone Sebastian doesn't think he has seen in years—someone calm and confident and _eager_ , someone with the time and energy to take on the world.

Sebastian trails Klavier to the fence that he has never quite understood. Is it supposed to keep things from falling off the roof? Or be a deterrent to suicides? Or just be a demarcation to keep people from getting too dizzy when they near the edge? "The city's quite impressive from this angle, yes."

"She's impressive from any angle." Klavier turns away from the view, towards Sebastian. "I'm not trying to distract from the conversation we were having, though. I just... needed the space. Thank you for letting me find it."

"No problem. If there's something I can do to help you, I'll do it. You know that, right?" Sebastian finds himself hugging his arms across his chest, his teeth trying to chatter though the February afternoon isn't all _that_ cold.

"I do." The remaining traces of smile vanish from Klavier's face, voice and expression becoming almost painfully earnest. "You have been a good and true friend, in a time when those are incredibly rare. I _trust_ you, Sebastian."

Klavier doesn't say more. He doesn't need to. The number of people that Klavier trusts dropped remarkably eighteen months ago; for Klavier to give his _trust_ is far more telling than for Klavier to give his affection.

"If you trust me, then why..." Sebastian gestures with his baton, his eyes not quite meeting Klavier's. "Why haven't you been _talking_ to me?"

"I thought..." Klavier sighs. "I _hoped_ that no one would be able to notice that anything is different. Is it so obvious that it is?"

"To someone who doesn't know you? Or to someone who's just known your performance persona? Probably not." Sebastian allows his eyes to drop to the baton, to the way the low red sun glints off the shiny metal. "But for Kay and I..."

"I'm sorry." Klavier's fingers ghost against Sebastian's cheek, though Klavier takes a hasty step back and shoves his hands through his belt when Sebastian jumps at the unexpected contact. Turning so that he's facing the sunset, Klavier frowns out at the city spread below them. "What is it that I've been doing that upsets you?"

"It's not just one thing. It's a whole _conflagration_ of little things."

The ghost of a smile touches Klavier's mouth as he gazes at Sebastian from the corner of his eye. "Mayhap _constellation_ , Herr Erste?"

"Maybe that, too." Sebastian smiles, though he can feel the nervous tension in it. "You aren't spending much time with us anymore. As soon as you're off for the night, you disappear."

"We didn't have much of a chance to spend time together before. Once or twice a week, maybe, when all three of us weren't busy on a case of some kind." Klavier frowns, the fingers of his left hand twined between the links of the fence. "And we got together last week."

"You spent half of it on your phone." That's a _little_ unfair, but usually when Klavier agrees to accompany them somewhere, he's _present_. Not always—all of them are guilty of letting their work invade their personal lives on occasion—but _usually_ , and when he's distracted it's never been because he can't seem to stop checking his phone before. "You've spent a lot of time on your phone lately, in all honesty. Ema and Gumshoe you keep trying to explain away as work, but you still haven't come up with a good excuse for why you're talking to _Justice_ every five minutes."

Sebastian doesn't dislike the defense attorney. He's never really _met_ the defense attorney, not having been privileged yet to face off against one of the Wright Anything Agency proteges. There is a part of him that still absolutely _loathes_ Apollo Justice, for no definable reason, just because he's apparently caught up in whatever mess has Klavier tied in knots right now.

"I'm not talking to Apollo every five minutes." Klavier's fingers tighten, his knuckles turning white. " _Especially_ last week, I was doing very well about not contacting Herr Forehead all the time."

"Does he have something on you? Is he..." Sebastian stumbles, not quite able to finish the question. Partly that is because accusing one of the defense attorneys who has been the staunchest opponent of corruption in recent memory of blackmailing Klavier sounds very silly when actually said out loud; partly it is because Klavier has straightened, his lips pulling back from his teeth and his eyes narrowing as he studies Sebastian.

"You think he's _blackmailing_ me?" Klavier releases the fence, rising to his full height, prowling around Sebastian in a slow circle. "Justice is my _friend_. He and Trucy have been my friends since—"

"I know." Sebastian blurts out his answer, his baton twisting between his fingers as he turns to follow Klavier's movements. Tears prick at his eyes, the water turned almost to ice-shards by the wind howling across the roof. "Believe me, I know."

Sebastian had watched, after all, as Apollo Justice tore Klavier's life apart. It was something that had to happen—after all that Edgeworth uncovered about Sebastian's own father, Sebastian can never say that it is better not to know the true nature of those you love. And is it really so different, Klavier's desire to have Justice and crew acknowledge Klavier's skill and integrity versus Sebastian's need for Edgeworth's approval in the years following his father's imprisonment?

"You're worried about me." Klavier closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around his chest and rocking back and forth on his heels. "You're worried about me and you don't really know him. I understand. It's all right. But I swear, on all the songs we've ever toyed with together, Apollo has done and is doing nothing to hurt me."

Sebastian nods, slowly, chewing on his bottom lip. "But _something's_ hurt you. Something has you acting differently—on edge, unable to settle down, worried about Justice and Skye and Gumshoe... is that right?"

Klavier is back at the fence, both hands laced through the links now, and he frowns as he stares down at the city. "To say that I've been _hurt_... something has changed, yes. But though it includes the restlessness and all the other things you've noticed... it also includes when we first came out here. It's not so much a _hurt_ as it is... a _rawness_. Everything strikes _hard_ , right now, for good and for ill."

Sebastian moves up on Klavier's right side, slowly reaches out to settle a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Is it... something you're happy with? Something you want?"

"It's something that _is_ , and it's something..." Klavier draws a deep breath, his head tilting back so that his eyes are on the darkening sky. "Overall, it is something that I don't think I would change, were I given the opportunity to do so. It's something... something that takes getting used to, but that I... like, I think."

"It's not..." Sebastian bites down on his bottom lip for a moment, his baton tapping against his thigh. There really isn't a diplomatic way to say this, though. "You're not going to get in trouble because of this, right? You're not... no one's gotten you hooked on some kind of... of drugs or..."

Klavier smiles, lowering his eyes to study Sebastian with a shake of his head. "If I were to get involved in drugs, I would have done it during my Gavinners days. I'm not taking anything, legal or illegal, and no one is blackmailing me."

Sebastian tightens his hand on Klavier's shoulder. "But you won't tell me exactly what _is_ going on?"

"I can't." Regret threads itself through Klavier's voice, through his whole posture, a hunching of his shoulders and a lowering of his head. "If I could, I would, but I swore I wouldn't, to someone both of us respect. If it ever _does_ become possible for me to tell you, believe me, I will."

Sebastian frowns. Someone both of them respect... while there are several people who fit that profile, there's really only one who jumps to the top of the list.

Klavier grins, his right hand releasing the fence so that his fingers can come to rest against Sebastian's. "Keep thinking like that. Follow it up. Perhaps we can change the rules."

Heaving a sigh, Sebastian shakes his head. "This is all very _strange_ , you know. And that's even _without_ talking about you _nuzzling_ Detective Gumshoe."

"I wasn't..." Klavier shoves a hand back through his bangs again, smiling sheepishly. "All right, perhaps it _did_ look like I was nuzzling him."

"Uh huh. Which, I mean, if that's what you _want_ , it's just..."

Klavier laughs, the sound deep and open and _honest_ , and shakes his head. "While I have developed quite a fondness for the senior detective—he has been a good friend to you, and he is Prosecutor Edgeworth's right hand—I've no romantic interest in him. My taste in romantic partners runs a bit—"

"I already know all that I need to about your romantic interests." Sebastian smiles as he shakes his head, though, Klavier's good cheer infectious. "I don't need to hear you enumerate them."

"You know me too well." Klavier leans his back against the fence. "Though even if I were willing, I am not quite the type of man to turn Detective Gumshoe's head."

Sebastian shakes his head harder. "I don't want to know about that, either."

"As you wish." Klavier tilts his chin up again, his features sharply defined by the setting sun. "There was nothing romantic, though. Just one friend helping another through a difficult time. Which should not be a _just_ , I think, but you understand what I'm saying."

"I do." Sebastian plants his hands on his hips, studying his friend for long seconds. Klavier hasn't lied to him, he doesn't think. Though Klavier is hiding something—has blatantly _admitted_ he's hiding something, in concert with Prosecutor Edgeworth—it's not something that's dangerous. It's not something illegal. It's not something he needs rescuing from, just something he needs time to learn to deal with. Try as he can, Sebastian can't imagine what that might _be_ , but seeing Klavier happy and smiling and laughing and _talking_ to him helps put some of his fears at ease. "You'll tell me, if there's something I can do to help?"

"Always." Klavier's eyes are bright and clear as he lowers his head again, fixing Sebastian in a too-intense stare.

"And is it all right if I tell Kay about what we've talked about? About what I saw?" Sebastian rubs at the back of his neck, not relishing any attempt to synopsize events for the private investigator. "She's been worried, too."

"Tell Kay whatever you wish to. I trust your judgment and hers." Klavier pauses, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Though I would prefer she not start attempting to watch me. On second thought, I'm rather relieved she's waited this long."

"That's at least partly because I said you'd be upset if you found out she was tailing you." Sebastian rubs under his chin. "And that you'd tell us what was going on when you needed us."

"I am a lucky man, to have the two of you as friends." Klavier straightens, his eyes still fixed on Sebastian. "I will talk with Kay on my own, as well—tell her as much as I've told you. As much as I can. Right now, though... would you mind if I hugged you, Sebastian?"

"Ah..." Sebastian blinks, trying to sort out the conflicting impulses flitting through his thoughts. It has been a long time since Klavier felt the need to ask before initiating physical contact like a hug—a long time since Sebastian would flinch at sudden unexpected contact. There is something in the way Klavier is _watching_ him right now, though, something in the way Klavier is _moving_ , that raises the hairs on the back of Sebastian's neck.

Taking a deliberate step back, Klavier closes his eyes. Pulling his hair back into a tighter ponytail with his left hand, he draws two slow breaths. "It's all right, Sebastian. You've no need to—"

"We're friends." Sebastian's voice is firm, his chin high as he studies the other prosecutor. "I'm going to talk to Prosecutor Edgeworth about what's going on as soon as I can, but if you'd like a hug, then I'm fine with that."

Klavier waits until Sebastian is done speaking to move, his eyes fixed on Sebastian's face. Once Sebastian is quiet, though, Klavier moves _fast_ , covering the distance between them before Sebastian really notices him moving, his arms wrapping around Sebastian.

The hug is tight, intense, the type of contact they shared after Sebastian's father was executed, after Daryan's betrayal. There is a tiny tremble to Klavier's arms, to his whole _body_ , and Sebastian has the strangest impression that despite how tightly Klavier is embracing him, Klavier is actually holding back.

" _Danke_ , Sebastian." Klavier's face is buried against Sebastian's shoulder, his breath warm against Sebastian's neck and collarbone. "For everything, _dan—_ "

Klavier jerks, an abrupt, uncontrolled movement.

Sebastian hears the shot a millisecond later, though he isn't able to say what it is at first, the roof of the prosecutor's office not being a location where he is expecting to hear gunfire.

Everything devolves into chaos after that—Klavier collapses, whimpering low in his throat. There is blood _everywhere—_ on Klavier's face, on the ground around them, spreading out in a frightening-fast puddle from Klavier's left thigh.

Two more shots dig into the concrete just to their right as Sebastian drops to the rooftop beside Klavier, the thundercrack of the bullets' firing mixing with the crackle of shattering concrete into one horrifying sound.

Someone is _shooting_ at them.

Someone just shot Klavier.

Given everything else, it takes Sebastian over a minute to notice that he is bleeding, too, the left side of his neck torn open by Klavier's teeth.

Since the bleeding has already stopped by the time he notices, Sebastian dismisses the injury as nothing important and continues to focus on trying to get himself and Klavier behind cover before their unknown assailant hits their target again.


	2. Chapter 2: Silver in the Blood

_**Chapter Two: Silver in the Blood**_

"You're _really_ sure you feel all right?"

"Apollo, if you hug me _one more time_ while I am trying to fill out this report, _I_ am going to bite _you_." Raising her head, Athena glares at her friend, fellow defense attorney, and soon-to-be alpha.

Apollo frowns, but he retreats back a handful of steps, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I haven't been interrupting you _that_ often."

Athena narrows her eyes. "Yes, you have."

"Depends on your definition of interrupting." Trucy pops her head up from the other side of the couch, where she has been perfecting some kind of magic trick that involves popping sounds going off every five minutes or so. "He's only hugged you twice today, 'Thena. But he _has_ asked how you're doing... let's see, if we count individual times, seven; if we count limit it to individual conversations, four."

Apollo rubs at the back of his neck, his face beginning to flush as he looks away. "Have I really been that persistent?"

" _Yes_." Athena sighs as she shoves the form she's working on away. Clearly it isn't going to be finished before this conversation happens. It's probably better that she and Apollo talk about this, anyway.

It's only three days until the full moon—her first full moon as a werewolf, and Athena can _feel_ it, a tense buzz building higher around her with every passing night. Apollo can feel it, too, the alpha werewolf becoming increasingly concerned about his three initiate wolves as the big night draws closer. For Ema and Gumshoe that means repeated texts; for Athena, who spends most of each day in the same room with Apollo, the attention can become a bit more cloying.

"I really am sorry, Athena." Apollo drops his hands to his sides, his shoulders slumped forward slightly. "I just... I'm worried about you."

He is, too. It sings just beneath all his words, a bright, shimmering vibrato that makes it impossible for Athena to stay irritated at the attention. Sighing, Athena allows her right hand to rise and toy with her earring. "You need to _trust_ me, 'Pollo. If I say that I'm all right, you can believe me. You _know_ that I'm not lying."

Apollo's right hand crosses to touch his bracelet, and his eyes turn away from Athena. "I know that _you_ believe what you're saying. But my experience with the transition wasn't the most pleasant, and if you're not feeling well, Trucy and I can take over work for you."

"I'm feeling _fine_ , though. No headaches. No joint pain." Athena shrugs. "I'm okay, I promise."

"But it's _weird_ , don't you think?" Apollo begins pacing back and forth in front of the desk that Athena's working at, his right hand still at his bracelet. "I mean, Ema and Gumshoe are both starting to notice side effects."

Athena can't help a little smile. "Ema's been keeping a notebook documenting every little part of her transition. She's been taking her temperature and blood pressure and _blood sugar_ as well as a gazillion other data points every day, just to see what's changed. If something twinges, Ema's going to assume that it's werewolf caused."

"Ema's been a little... exuberant." Apollo rubs at the back of his neck again.

Trucy's head pops up once more. "Ema's been _awesome_. Did you know she's also been measuring the same data points from Gumshoe and Klavier and Athena whenever she can get her hands on them?"

"I do." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Apollo shakes his head, entertainment and exasperation mixing in his voice. "Because I'm a werewolf, too, so she's also been trying to get me to agree to participate in her little experiments. Plus everyone seems to want to tell _me_ when Ema's driving them crazy."

Athena shrugs. "I think half the time Klavier's just trying to come up with an excuse for wanting to talk to you. Just like you're trying to come up with an excuse for wanting to talk to him."

Apollo's face burns bright red. "I'm not—"

Trucy doesn't bother to pop her head up this time. "You've texted him twelve times today. And that's the smallest number since the whole everyone-becomes-a-werewolf debacle. Though the day's not over yet, so..."

"You don't get to call it a debacle when you're desperately trying to get your father to let you become one." Apollo throws his hands up in the air. "And _yes_ , Klavier and I both know we've been... weird since the whole becoming-pack thing. We're trying to manage it."

Apollo's scared. Athena draws a slow breath, her fingers glancing across Widget as the uncertainty and near-terror that lies beneath Apollo's words echoes in minor chords in her ears. Apollo never asked to be a werewolf, and neither did Klavier; reminders that it's _changed_ them, made them something other than what they were, still strike too close to home.

"You have been doing better." Athena stands up, coming around the desk so she can lay a hand on Apollo's shoulder.

He relaxes immediately, his right hand shifting from his bracelet to rest atop hers.

Touch is important to the wolves—both to the ones who have already Changed and to those who are in the process of it, she's found. _She_ can feel it, too, a little tingling tenseness in the back of her mind that calms whenever she's in physical contact with anyone else in the pack—in _either_ pack, because Juniper's touch is also comforting to her, though she doesn't think it always is for the others. It's just that somehow the need isn't quite as... _demanding_ for her as it is for the others.

Not as _controlling_.

"I'm just worried that maybe there's something wrong." Apollo shrugs. "I mean... what if it didn't take? Or what if it's interacting with your maybe-exists bloodline?"

Athena pulls her jacket sleeve up enough to show the crescent-moon scar where Juniper bit her during the ceremony. "I'd say this looks pretty normal, wouldn't you?"

"As normal as a supernaturally-inflicted scar should look in my limited experience, yeah." Apollo's fingers trail slowly across the white skin.

A shiver runs up and down Athena's back, and she has to draw a deep breath and forcefully take a step away to keep from nuzzling up against Apollo's chest.

Apollo's lips quirk up into the tiniest smirk. "And _that_... you smelled like wolf for a moment, and you just barely kept from doing something silly, didn't you?"

"Maybe." Athena returns the smile. "Hopefully that puts your mind at rest so far as the did-it-work question goes. As for how my bloodline will interact... so far it just seems to be making this less painful for me. That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah." Apollo's hand returns to his bracelet, and he frowns as he fidgets.

Athena sighs, then grins, drawing a deep breath. She knows how to get Apollo to lighten up. Leaning forward, she shouts at the top of her lungs. "I'm Athena Cykes, and I'm _fine_!"

Apollo jumps backward, and Athena could swear that his hair-horns attempt to flatten against his skull. Then he grins, drawing a breath of his own. "I'm Apollo Justice, and _I'm_ fine!"

"I'm Trucy Wright, and I want to be a werewolf!"

"Not for at least another three months." Phoenix doesn't waste a beat answering as he comes into the office. Has he noticed Trucy slowly whittling down the time she has to wait until she's allowed to decide to be Changed or not? Athena can't tell, and since it's not her fight she doesn't really want to ask. "I see things haven't fallen apart in my brief absence?"

"No, sir." Apollo comes to attention. "Everything's—"

Athena feels it as a tightening of her throat, a tingling that runs across all her skin. It _could_ hurt—she feels the _potential_ for hurt all through the crackling power, though the pain doesn't quite reach through to touch _her_.

Apollo isn't so lucky. Apollo goes ram-rod straight, his eyes widening, his breath first catching and then releasing in a long, growling whimper. His hands form into claws, scratching at the empty air in front of him.

Athena doesn't try to fight it when the same tingling energy tells her to move forward, to wrap her arms around Apollo and pull him tight to her. She needs the comfort; Apollo _definitely_ needs the contact.

"Apollo? Athena?" Phoenix's voice somehow penetrates the crackling pack-energy.

"Something wrong." It's harder to speak than Athena would have imagined.

"Someone's _hurt_." Apollo wheezes out the words, but his hands are firm and steady as he hugs Athena. "One of the _pack_ is hurt, and we need to fix it _right now_."

XXX

Ema growls as she slides into her desk chair, and the detective who sits at the station next to her scoots his chair just a little bit further to the east, away from her.

It's not actually _much_ of a change in her standard vocalizations, the half-feral sounds that always seem just on the tip of her tongue now. She established a reputation as prickly early on in her career, when she was still trying to figure out who was trustworthy as well as stinging from her failure to make the cut for forensics. It's come in handy for the last two weeks, and she's not above using it to her advantage when she needs to keep other people at arm's length.

Not that she wants _everyone_ at arm's length. Some people she has developed an urge to be far _too_ close to, physically, especially over the last week. It doesn't help that Gavin and Gumshoe welcome the contact.

At least Gavin has shown enough emotional intelligence to keep many smart remarks from escaping about her suddenly increased tolerance for his presence.

Just a few more days. Three more days and she'll have completed the transformation—as well as her information-gathering on what the transformation _does_ to those it's working on. The changes have been subtle, her medical skill almost not strong enough to allow her to follow them, but they're definitely _there_. As the full moon approaches she and Gumshoe and Cykes have all had a small but statistically significant increase in their body temperature; blood pressure means seem to be lowering; healing and metabolism seem to both be increasing, though since Detective Gumshoe has been providing most of the data on the healing of minor injuries Ema can't be sure it's something that's happening to all the soon-to-be wolves at the same time. She hasn't _quite_ gotten to the point where intentionally cutting herself seems like a good idea.

Especially since everyone's transformation seems to be hitting them a little differently. They definitely don't seem to be having the same number of side effects. Ema has had a headache at least once a day ever since the new moon, with the severity and frequency increasing the closer the full moon comes.

(The headaches are better when she's around the other wolves—best when she's around Gavin or Justice, and it gives her a hint of things to come, she supposes, a taste of how much the wolves in the pack will depend on each other.)

Her joints are also aching, ground-glass tenderness deep within her elbows and knees and neck that make moving painful—especially when she's been studying and when she's away from the rest of the wolves.

Gumshoe is reporting less physical reactions. If he's sore at all, he doesn't seem to notice; when he gets headaches, they're mild enough that a tiny bit of Aspirin takes care of them.

Cykes doesn't seem to be having any physical side effects at _all_ , which Ema thinks is decidedly unfair. It's an unfairness she's been documenting, though, determined to get all the information she can out of this strange journey that she's on.

Pulling her werewolf notepad from her bag, Ema flips through her notes from the last few days. They are in shorthand, coded so that no one not familiar with her will be able to read them. If something happens to her, she has no doubt that Edgeworth, at least, will be able to translate them; if nothing happens to her, she'll be able to continue her investigations in even more depth once she's completed the transformation.

Edgeworth has been remarkably patient and kind about this experience, more than Ema had expected. He seems to make it his personal duty to check on her and Gumshoe once a day, and has insisted repeatedly that if she or Gumshoe need him or Gavin at any point they are to call immediately.

(It's not quite as good as being with Gavin, being with Edgeworth, but it _does_ tend to make the headaches fade back a bit. Is it because there is a part of the almost-born wolf that sees Edgeworth as an alpha despite his humanity, or is there something else going on?)

"Skye."

Ema's head jerks up, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the detective standing in front of her desk.

The woman arches an eyebrow. "Everything all right? Work progressing on the Pollock case?"

"Progressing quite nicely." Ema nods. "Prosecutor DeBeste expects us to be in court in somewhere between twenty-four and forty-eight hours."

"Good." Another sharp nod. "Keep me updated. Once you're done with that case, I'll probably assign you to the Collie double-murder—I think it's proving to be a bit much for O'Halp to handle alone."

"Got it." Ema forces a smile. "I'll let you know as soon as I've got the time free."

She'll let the woman know as soon as she's certain she can actually _handle_ it. If she can't, Gumshoe and Edgeworth will pull strings. As much as it irks Ema to have to stand back, it's better she not accept a case than trying to accept it when she's not physically able and ending up doing something wrong—something that could affect the prosecution's outcome.

If Klavier can accept being benched from cases for justice's sake, so can she.

Just so long as it's not for Justice, but she's absolutely certain Apollo wouldn't try to use his super-wolf abilities to affect how the system works. He's too—

The wolf's terrified knowledge is like a sledgehammer to the back of her head, a spiking agony that travels from her skull down her vagal nerve to turn her guts inside out. The whole surface of her skin tingles and prickles, flashes of pinching pain, and she bites back a whimper as her human thoughts attempt to put words to what the almost-wolf living inside her knows.

Something bad has happened to someone in the pack.

They aren't _quite_ pack, according to Juniper, Ema and Gumshoe and Athena, not yet, but the pack is very willing to accept them, and they are willing to accept the pack, and apparently that has left them open to the distress call.

Ema manages to clamp her teeth down around any further noise as she stumbles from her desk towards the bathroom, pulling her phone out as she does. There are only four other people that could be causing a reaction like this, if she is understanding correctly what she is feeling. Two of them work together, and though usually she would say being a defense attorney is a very safe job, with Phoenix Wright as their mentor anything is possible.

The other two—Klavier should be safe enough, holed up in the prosecutor's office. Gumshoe, though, has a tendency to throw himself into danger if he thinks it will be helpful or if he thinks it's needful, his bulk and ferocity enough to scare most uncertain crooks into submission. If he misread a situation, or if the burgeoning wolf he carries caused him to make a poor decision...

She has had Gavin on speed-dial for well over a year, and her fingers hit the right numbers easily. If he doesn't know exactly what's going on, he'll hopefully be able to read _more_ from the pack-bonds than she can, and at least the sound of his voice will help calm the pain that's threatening to drive her to her knees right now.

XXX

It _burns_.

He needs to walk. He needs to _talk_. He needs to explain what's happening—what he's _done_ , because he can taste Sebastian's blood iron-hot on his tongue.

He _can't_. He can't even manage to _apologize_ , all his focus locked on the white-hot fire that has taken up residence in his thigh.

Gitarre twists and turns and snarls inside him, the wolf striving time and again to transform their too-fragile human body into the canine's stronger, faster form. Time and again it _fails_ , the silver sparks that should normally merge into one white-hot bolt of lightning that flings them through the Change instead grounding out on the fire in his leg. It _hurts_ every time it happens, and he should probably find a way to make it stop, but that seems to be about as feasible as him managing to get words out through his chattering teeth.

He needs his pack here. He needs Apollo—and Gumshoe and Ema and Athena, but Apollo is the one who is fully _pack_ , who will understand what is happening with Gitarre.

He should be able to handle this _himself_. He knows other people who have been shot and who have continued working—Agent Lang springs to the top of the list, but Franziska von Karma was shot at one point, he knows. He's certain there have been others, too, though names are starting to escape him.

 _Everything_ is starting to escape him, drowned out in spasms of agony, and he wants his pack here. He wants to have Apollo holding him, Ema telling him everything will be all right, Gumshoe and Athena patrolling for danger.

He needs to _warn_ them, but the words he would use disappear in arcing currents of pain and disorientation centered on the fire that seems to be burning its way deeper into his leg with every passing second.

"Come on, Klavier!" Sebastian's hands are under Klavier's arms, dragging him along the ground.

Klavier's trying. There are so very many things he's trying to do, but somehow none of them seem to want to actually happen.

"Of course they don't, brother."

Klavier's breath hisses out in a low snarl, which is at least better than a whimper.

"Really, Klavier, can't you manage to do _anything_ for yourself?" Kristoph smiles, a thin, tiny, controlled expression as he pushes his glasses up on his nose. His eyes are disappointed but not surprised as he stares down at Klavier.

Attempting once more to get both feet underneath him, something that Sebastian seems to be urging him to do, as well, Klavier instead ends up face-down on the rough surface of the roof.

His left leg simply won't do what he wants— _can't_ do what he wants anymore, he realizes, the fire burning there having made it impossible for him to move the limb properly.

It's hard to move _anything_ properly, and he thinks he might have passed out for a moment, because when he can blink his vision into focus again, Sebastian's face is directly above his.

"It's okay, Klavier." Exertion has brought out beads of sweat on Sebastian's forehead, and his lips are white, terror cloying his scent. "It's all right. Just another second..."

They're back in the building. Klavier realizes it only when the door slams shut behind Sebastian, though he should have been able to tell from how the taste of the air has changed and the quality of the light has become muted.

Not that he can see well, period. Gitarre's attempts to change them may not be succeeding—may be doing something very _bad_ to them—but it _is_ sending his vision in-and-out of the wolf's more muted hues.

The hues where ghosts live, and his brother is smiling, again, Kristoph shaking his head as he stares down at Klavier. "So pathetic, little brother. The mad beast who not only can't do anything for himself, but actively _hurts_ those who are trying to help him..."

"Klavier?" Sebastian's face swims back into focus, the other prosecutor's hand tapping gently at one of Klavier's cheeks. "Can—can you understand me?"

 _Yes_. He tries to scream the word, but a low, whining half-howl is all that comes out.

 _I'm sorry_ , he wants to say.

 _Go to Edgeworth_ , he needs to demand.

 _It'll be all right_ , he wants to promise.

The pack will come. The pack will understand. Everything will be all right.

The fire flares out from his hip, traveling in a shimmering blaze up his back and into the center of his chest. He can feel his body start to convulse, the muscles of his neck and shoulder tensing.

Then there is only white, for a few seconds, fire and lightning clashing against each other, and when Klavier can finally blink his eyes into focus again he has been turned onto his side.

Kristoph is kneeling in front of him, every inch the calm, cool, collected man he always pretended to be. There is something in his eyes, though, and in the touch of his blessedly-cool hand against Klavier's face that makes Klavier try to shove his shivering, barely-responsive body away.

"It doesn't matter if you fight, Klavier." Kristoph's smile grows. "Though it is _interesting_ , watching your body tear itself apart. And once that's done... well, brother. You seem to need to belong to someone, and I've always wondered what having a slave would be like..."

Something cinches tight around his upper thigh, and Klavier screams as the world dissolves into blackness again.

XXX

"Thank you, Detective."

"No problem, sir." Gumshoe smiles, straightening a bit where he stands in front of Edgeworth's desk. "Anything else that you needed from me?"

Edgeworth puts down the file that Gumshoe had brought, clasping his hands together as he leans forward to study Gumshoe more closely. "Nothing work-related. Just the usual update on how you and Ms. Skye are doing."

"We're doing fine, sir!" Gumshoe can't quite keep a grin in check, rising up on his toes. The grin fades as he remembers what happened in Prosecutor Gavin's office before he came up to see Edgeworth. "Though, uh... Prosecutor DeBeste may have found me and Prosecutor Gavin in a little bit of a compromising position."

Edgeworth's eyes narrow. "First, please be careful of the phrasing you use, Detective. Second, what do you mean?"

"I went to see Klavier before I came to see you." Scratching at the bandage on his cheek, which currently hides the fact that an injury which should have taken three or four days to heal disappeared in a little under twenty hours, Gumshoe lowers his eyes to the ground. "I was just... gettin' a little restless, and being with Prosecutor Gavin helps make the... the..."

Gumshoe frowns, trying to decide what words he can use to describe the feelings that have grown stronger with every day closer they draw to the full moon. It's not a _bad_ feeling. It's just... _there_ , a tense, jerky underpinning to his thoughts that only seems to go away when he's with the other werewolves.

Edgeworth sits patiently, his eyes fixed on Gumshoe. He doesn't tap his fingers in irritation or try to hurry Gumshoe along, though.

If Edgeworth were an alpha, Gumshoe would follow him in a heartbeat. He already _does_ , really, and it's part of the reason Gumshoe hadn't hesitated much when given the opportunity to become a werewolf. It will give him skills he didn't have before, healing and strength that will hopefully make up for an aging body. It will allow Gumshoe to protect someone that Edgeworth cares about—though their relationship started out fraught, frayed by the ghost of Phoenix Wright, since the Misham case Edgeworth has taken Klavier under his wing as firmly as he did Sebastian and Kay years ago.

Plus it's just not _right_ , Klavier and Justice being punished for something they never asked for—something they can't help. And Gumshoe's always been good with dogs—

"Detective?" Edgeworth's voice is soft, not the whip-crack question that it would be during an interrogation.

"Sorry, sir." Gumshoe rubs at the back of his head. "Just... it was getting hard to focus like I needed to, and Klavier... well, somehow I ended up kneeling in front of Prosecutor Gavin, and he was hugging me and maybe rubbing his head against mine, y'know, like dogs do, and then Prosecutor DeBeste walked in and I walked out."

Edgeworth's hands unclasp, his right one moving to cover his face. "Detective..."

"Like I said, sorry, sir." Gumshoe shrugs, holding his hands out palm-up. "I'm sure Prosecutor Gavin handled it just fine. But I was also thinkin'... Gavin's been close to Sebastian for a while, and Sebastian seems to have noticed that there's somethin' different about Gavin, so maybe..."

"I've already stretched the good will of the local alphas having myself declared parole officer to our new pack." Edgeworth sighs, his hands dropping to lie flat on the surface of his desk. "There are a few people who should be brought in on the secret, I agree—Prosecutor DeBeste and Ms. Faraday being towards the top of the list, along with your Ms. Byrde. I doubt I'll be able to safely argue for permission for another month or so, though. If I push too soon, they'll assume it's because there's been some breach of protocol already."

Gumshoe spends a moment working through all that Edgeworth says, and then nods slowly. "If we try to tell anyone else too soon, they'll assume we can't be trusted, and Justice and Gavin will be in trouble again."

"As well as Ms. Woods, possibly, though I think the likelihood of them turning on her at this point is rather small." A tight, predatory smile flashes across Edgeworth's face. "We have made ourselves a more exciting prospect for their ire, something I do not regret and that I doubt the others regret, either."

Gumshoe nods. "I'm sure they—"

He doesn't know exactly what happens. He _hurts_ , spikes of pain through his head and his chest and his left leg, and so he _acts_.

If something is threatening them, it's his job to protect Prosecutor Edgeworth, and Gumshoe will happily do that with his life if need be.

XXX

Edgeworth recognizes the sound that comes in through his cracked office window as a gunshot.

He doesn't know if many people would. It is distant, distorted by the city-scape in which it bounces. For many people Edgeworth imagines it would be easy to convince themselves it was something else—a car backfiring, to use the standard line, or perhaps a distant bit of thunder, or the crash of something falling from a height.

He is too familiar with gunshots, though. He has heard them up close more times than he ever likes to contemplate; he has heard them from a distance; he _recognizes_ them, a gut-level certainty that has him turning to the window as soon as the sound touches his ears.

The first shot is followed by several more—five or six, possibly seven. It's hard for Edgeworth to count, because while he is attempting to determine who is shooting at what in close enough proximity to the prosecutor's office for him to hear, Detective Gumshoe is busy attempting to bury them both in the floor.

It's sweet, in a way. And it definitely falls within Detective Gumshoe's job description, protecting a prosecutor—protecting _anyone—_ if there are shots being fired nearby.

It's also infuriating, because it means that Edgeworth has lost time and knowledge that could have been quite useful.

"Detective, get—" Edgeworth shoves once at the detective's shoulder before stopping, holding himself very still as he gets a better look at Gumshoe's face.

Edgeworth knows, then. He isn't _certain_ , because he doesn't have enough pieces to really understand what's happening, but the suspicion that this is an attack aimed at the werewolves currently in his care blooms fast and sets down strong roots as he takes in Gumshoe's expression.

"Detective." Edgeworth speaks loudly but without anger or aggression, not wanting to trigger a reaction they'll all regret. "What's happening?"

"Someone..." Gumshoe draws a deep, shuddering breath, his left hand moving to massage his hip. "I think... someone in the pack's hurt? I don't... are you okay, sir?"

"I'm fine, detective." Edgeworth tries to shift, and Gumshoe's elbow grinds deeper into his chest. "I would be more fine if you could see fit to let me up. The danger doesn't appear to be targeted at us, and—"

Both of their phones begin chiming at nearly the exact same moment. Edgeworth's plays Mikaboshi's theme from the Steel Samurai—Wright as a chaos god whose motives are ultimately good had been too perfect to pass up.

Gumshoe's plays a recording from the last karaoke night the Wright Anything Agency held, though he isn't looking to see Edgeworth's raised eyebrow.

Fumbling his phone out of his pocket, Gumshoe frowns down at the screen.

He's at least moved enough that Edgeworth can wriggle his way free and answer his own phone, which he promptly does.

"Edgeworth!" Phoenix's voice blares out of the speaker, and Edgeworth can hear both Wright's proteges yelling in the background. "One of the you-know-what's has been hurt. It's not one of my two—Apollo and Athena are fine, though very shaken up. Athena's calling Gumshoe—"

"I can hear the two of them talking, or at least the detective's side of the conversation. He's in my office." Edgeworth moves closer to the window, peering out, but the early twilight gives no clues about what could have happened. "He felt it, too. Which means either Detective Skye or, since I heard the shots fired here—"

"Klavier's not picking up his phone!" Justice's voice is so loud Edgeworth worries that he may have taken the phone from Phoenix.

"You heard shots fired at your _office_?" Phoenix's horrified response is also loud, so apparently Justice is just shouting with enough volume to be heard clearly. "Do you know—Apollo says Ema's not picking up her phone, either. Hold on—"

Gumshoe taps politely on Edgeworth's shoulder. "Call came through from Ema."

Edgeworth trades phones without another word. "Ema, tell me—"

"Gavin's hurt." Ema's words are clipped, her voice raw. "Shot in the leg. DeBeste's with him at the top of the stairs to the roof. I'm going to go round up a team, have our people start looking for the shooter, but if you and Gumshoe can go try to help—"

"We're on our way." Edgeworth climbs to his feet, heading for the stairs at a brisk jog. "I'm giving you back to Gumshoe; Gumshoe, my phone, please."

The detective doesn't question Edgeworth's orders, slamming Edgeworth's phone back into his hand as he reclaims his own.

"Wright, Gavin's hurt. Given that it was pain and fear that led to Ms. Woods' mistake, I would appreciate it if you could bring Justice and Cykes. Possibly their incorporeal friend, too, since he may be able to—"

"Sir." Gumshoe's tense, choked exclamation draws Edgeworth's immediate attention. "It might be too late for that, sir. Ema says... Ema says that Gavin already bit Sebastian."

For one tense moment Edgeworth stays still, a thousand choices flashing through his mind. He should have _told_ Sebastian, damn the consequences—given how much time Sebastian spends around Gavin, this was always a possibility.

What's done is done, though, and Edgeworth doesn't regret protecting Gavin and Justice.

Sprinting for the stairs and the roof, Edgeworth prioritizes his next moves. He needs to figure out a way to prevent this from becoming a disaster, and that means first containing the current situation, and secondly doing everything in his power to figure out who has the _audacity_ to hunt Edgeworth's people on their own home ground.

Whoever it is, Edgeworth's going to make sure it's the last mistake they ever make.


	3. Chapter 3: Damage Control

**Author's Note:** Just a reminder that this will not be Spirit of Justice compliant because the game wasn't out when I wrote the first draft. I'm only through the first two cases so far (being a functional adult takes so much time), so please refrain from any spoilers for the other cases.

 _ **Chapter Three: Damage Control**_

There's something wrong with Klavier.

 _Other_ than having been shot in the leg and bleeding everywhere, which is also a distinct problem. Sebastian's pretty sure being shot in the leg shouldn't result in near-immediate incoherency, though, which is what appears to have happened.

His first order of business had been getting them out of the line of fire, and he somehow succeeded against the odds. Or at least it _feels_ like it was against the odds, to Sebastian. He heard another half-dozen shots or so ricocheting off the roof as he dragged Klavier toward the door, but some combination of the wind picking up around them and Sebastian's desperate, jerking progress kept any from connecting.

Leaving Sebastian in the stairwell, concrete steps leading down in a daunting, dizzying cascade, while Klavier bleeds and shivers beside him.

"...K-K-Kristoph..." Klavier's eyes are wide as he stares at a point two feet in front of them.

Sebastian tries and fails to keep a shiver from convulsing his own body. It's just shock talking. There are no ghosts lingering here, waiting to pounce on Klavier as soon as he's weak enough. "Kristoph's not here, Klavier. It's just you and me."

Klavier doesn't respond, his breathing fast and shallow as he continues to watch that same patch of empty air.

Sebastian needs to do other tasks, now. He needs to get help. He needs to report the crime.

He needs to make sure Klavier _survives_ until help comes, and from the amount of blood pooling on the concrete beneath them that means Sebastian has to act fast.

His fingers shake as he disengages his belt from around his waist, and Sebastian wills them to be still. He can do this. He faced down his father; he can save a friend.

Klavier whimpers, a long, low sound of pain and fear.

"Klavier?" Sebastian moves so that he's in front of Klavier's gaze, reaching out to tap gingerly at Klavier's cheek. "Can—can you understand me?"

Klavier's eyes shift, staring up at Sebastian, and his mouth moves, but nothing comprehensible is said.

"It's all right, Klavier. I'm going to put a tourniquet on, to stop the bleeding, and then I'll get an ambulance here and you'll be just fine."

Klavier almost nods, his head moving in a jerky, hesitant motion.

Then his whole body arches in something that looks frighteningly like a seizure, a high-pitched whine sliding from his throat.

Sebastian doesn't waste any more time. He slides his improvised tourniquet around Klavier's leg, as high up as he can manage, draws a deep breath, and cinches it tight.

Klavier doesn't scream. He just arches again, the muscles in his neck corded with strain, and then goes very, very still and limp.

"Klavier?" Sebastian knows he shouldn't, but he can't help shaking Klavier's shoulder, trying to get a response. "Klav—!"

Klavier's phone begins buzzing, the opening theme from a science show Sebastian watched during his childhood.

"Gavin!" Ema's voice is quiet but intense, her words running practically atop one another. "Which person in the pack's hurt? Or am I wrong? I just, from what I've been able to feel it's my best hypothesis and—"

"D-detective Skye." Sebastian is glad to see that his tourniquet job seems to be working, at least. Though he suspects Klavier's wound may still be oozing, it at least doesn't seem to be bleeding nearly as quickly as it had been. "Prosecutor Gavin's been shot. We were on the roof of the Prosecutor's Office, and now we're in the stairwell, and I have a tourniquet on his leg and—"

"Klavier's been _shot_?" Ema's voice rises an octave and catapults up several dynamic markers. "Have you reported anything yet?"

"N-no." Sebastian's teeth chatter together, and his hands are shaking again. "I—I had to get us inside, so no one could s-shoot us again, and then I had to make him stop _b-bleeding_ but he's unconscious and there's something really _wrong_ and—"

" _Sebastian._ "

Sebastian blinks, his breath catching in his throat. How long has it been since Ema called him by his first name? Though Sebastian didn't suffer _quite_ as much from her bitter frustration when she first became a detective, Ema having decided that he is some sort of surrogate little brother given his relationship to Edgeworth, she had maintained a careful working distance between them—a distance she has just wiped away in three syllables.

Has he ever heard her this _intense_ before? Maybe, he supposes. When there was a big-name scientist at the local university and she won free tickets, there had definitely been intensity to her voice, but that was a different _sort_ of intensity.

"Deep breaths, Sebastian." Ema's voice is still taut with emotion, but somehow her words help him calm down. "Are you safe? You said you're in the stairwell of the Prosecutor's Office, just before the roof?"

"We're safe. I think. I'm fairly certain—" Sebastian casts a worried glance at the closed metal door. " _Fairly_ certain the shooter was on another building, from the angle of the shots and the fact no one has followed us in here to kill us."

"All right. Stay right where you are. I'm going to report this—get people mobilized. I'll call back in just a minute."

Sebastian nods, though it occurs to him a moment too late that Ema won't be able to see him.

Someone else knows. Someone else is helping him. Somehow that makes all the difference in the world, and Sebastian scoots his way across the floor until he is sitting by Klavier's head.

Reaching out gently, Sebastian smooths sweat-darkened hair away from Klavier's face. The elastic tie that Klavier had used to bind his hair back disappeared sometime during Klavier's fall or their flight across the roof, and blond strands are stuck to the blood around Klavier's mouth.

Sebastian's left hand rises, touches gingerly at the point where Klavier apparently _bit him_ hard enough to draw blood. A small bit of scabbing forms a crescent-moon shape beneath Sebastian's questing fingers, but the injury doesn't actually hurt as he explores it. Is it normal for people to be able to draw blood that easily? Sebastian didn't think human teeth were supposed to be that sharp, but apparently—

Klavier's phone buzzes in Sebastian's right hand, the same science-show theme, and Sebastian answers it automatically. "Prosecutor DeBeste."

"Edgeworth's on his way to your position, Sebastian." Ema's voice is clipped still, but there's less tension in it. "And we've got people canvassing the area around the office. How's Klavier doing?"

The question causes Sebastian to blink, freezing his inquiry about an ambulance in his throat. "He's... I don't know. He's unconscious. He's lost a lot of blood. And he was acting really _strange_ , before he passed out. Stranger than someone with a gunshot wound should act? I don't know, I've never been so close to one before. But he _bit_ me and he thought he was seeing Kristoph and—"

Cursing more violent and varied in content than Sebastian has ever heard—and he has heard a _lot_ of swearing, from various detectives and forensics personnel at crime scenes—explodes over the phone.

The line goes dead again, and Sebastian pulls Klavier's cell away from his ear. What just happened? Did Klavier's cell battery die, or—

The phone buzzes once more, and Sebastian jumps a good half-foot into the air before answering.

"Gumshoe and Edgeworth are coming faster. _Don't leave his side_ , all right, Sebastian? Stay right there with Gavin until one of those two arrives. And..." The sounds of other people in the background abruptly cuts away, and Sebastian wonders where Ema has gone. "Has, uh... has anything really strange happened? Anything you maybe didn't want to report or didn't want to believe? With Klavier?"

"We were just shot at. _That's_ very strange and weird. And not something I like." Sebastian rubs his left hand across his face, swiping at the tears that are starting to gather in his eyes again. "And Klavier's been weird for _weeks_ but I'm so scared there's something really wrong, I think—"

"...ma..."

The syllable is a weak whisper, so soft Sebastian almost misses it beneath his own panicked ranting.

A quick glance at Klavier's face shows that his eyes are open to slits, and the shallow, fast breathing from before has been replaced by deep, gasping breaths. "...E... ma...?"

"He's asking for you!" Sebastian fumbles the phone with both hands, shouting into the speaker. "He's _awake_ , and I think he heard you—or at least your ringtone—and he's asking for you! Talk to him!"

Practically lying on the ground in an attempt to hold the phone to Klavier's ear and still hear Ema's voice himself, Sebastian waits impatiently for the sound of shoes on the stairs and the rest of the cavalry arriving.

XXX

His leg still burns, but the fire feels less immediate, more distant than before as Klavier claws his way towards the thread that caught his attention.

It was one of his pack speaking. He's _certain_ of it, though he also knows that it wasn't Apollo. If one of his pack is here, then he can tell them what's happened—tell them what he's done. He can have them take Sebastian and explain things to him, _protect_ him—the things Klavier should be doing but that he isn't capable of doing right now.

He can't touch Ema—it _is_ Ema, he realizes, the voice very familiar even if scent and touch are missing. That means he _has_ to talk, no matter how difficult it is, because he might not get another chance. "...Ema..."

"It's all right, Gavin." Ema's voice is raw, tight with fear and pain. "Help's on the way. _Edgeworth's_ on the way, and he's got Gumshoe with him and Apollo on the phone."

" _Apollo_." The name tries to twist in his mouth, becoming partially the wolf's name, but Klavier thinks it's still comprehensible. "Tell... I... bit..."

He can't finish the sentence. He can't remember what he's said, or how the sentence is supposed to go, or what language he's trying to speak, even.

Sebastian's hand is a warm, heavy weight on Klavier's left shoulder, Sebastian's body solid and comforting behind Klavier as Sebastian holds a phone to Klavier's ear.

An ice-cold finger traces a symbol on Klavier's forehead, and a low humming snaps Klavier's focus forward, to where Kristoph is kneeling in front of him.

Kristoph smiles. "Soon, _bruder_. Very soon..."

Another symbol etched with an ice-tipped finger, this time against Klavier's right hand, and Klavier tries to scream and finds he can't.

"You're going to be _fine_ , Klavier!" Ema's voice draws Klavier's attention back to the phone—to Sebastian, and the warmth of his friend helps to make the ghost sitting in front of him feel less real. "What would Justice want you to say? Come on, tell me!"

"F..." He can do this. How often has he done this with Apollo since he was Changed? The words should come easily to his tongue, but instead all his mouth seems to want to do is chatter his teeth together. " _Fi_..."

Sebastian's fingers stroke through his hair, hesitant, gentle; Sebastian's scent washes over him, pain and fear and hope and a growing hint of _wolf_.

Cold burns against his left hand, and Klavier finds that even the half-comprehensible half-words he was managing escape him as his blood seems to freeze in his veins.

Kristoph smiles, a tiny, arrogant expression as his fingers ghost beneath Klavier's chin—fingers that feel _real_ , that feel abruptly more solid than Sebastian's body behind him.

"How long have you wanted to bite him?" Kristoph's voice is soft, almost gentle, the type of voice he would use when interrogating witnesses on the stand that he knew were lying.

Or that he could convince _others_ were lying, because nothing that Kristoph did was trustworthy, and though Klavier has done his best to go through his brother's old cases looking for corruption—

A soft _tsking_ sound from his brother, and the fingers under his chin seem to dig in deeper. "Such a _stubborn_ man, Klavier. It was useful, once, when I could set you on the proper trail and expect you to follow it, but now it's really just getting annoying."

Klavier smiles, though he suspects that the motion is somewhat ruined by the shivering that has become a violent shuddering of his whole body—a body that can't decide if it's on fire or frozen, distant and disconnected or too agonizingly present to allow proper thought.

Kristoph leans closer. "You've infected your supposed _friend_ , Klavier. Three days before the full moon. He'll go through what _you_ went through, only with everyone even _more_ concerned about his sanity, because he was bitten by the half-mad monster they _should_ have put down when he was first created."

"Klavier?" Sebastian's voice is half-panicked.

"Gavin, you answer me _right now_ , you understand?" Ema's voice breaks on the command.

They're scared. His pack is _scared_ , and he needs to help them.

He needs to _breathe_ , he realizes belatedly, and he draws in a shuddering, choked gasp that earns a sob of relief from Sebastian.

"Come with me, Klavier." Cold fingers trail across his stomach, where his shirt is artfully open, begin moving in practiced, deft strokes. "I can control you. I can keep you from hurting people unintentionally."

Gitarre _howls_ inside him, fury and ferocity, but the fire burning in their leg keeps the wolf from actually doing anything as Kristoph's cold seeps down through their skin.

"The pack's coming, Klavier." Ema's words are a sob, and Klavier wants to _touch_ her, to comfort her, to tell her everything will be all right, but he can't.

His pack needs him—Ema, Apollo, Sebastian, Athena, Gumshoe, Clay—and all he is apparently capable of doing is lying here.

Cold drives down like a stake through his stomach, clashing against the burning fire that is slowly eating away at his leg, and Klavier forgets, once more, how to breathe.

XXX

Clay finds his body forming half-in, half-out of the trunk of a speeding taxi, his right hand hovering by Apollo's left shoulder, his left hand accidentally planted in Trucy's head and neck.

It's not the strangest position he's wound up in when riding Apollo's thoughts back to him, but Clay hates his non-corporeal status being obvious, so he hastily drags himself forward, settling on the little cup-holder between the taxi driver and Phoenix Wright in the passenger's seat and turning so that he's facing Apollo.

Apollo is huddled on the central seat, his lips pressed together until they are a deathly white, his right hand fisted in Athena's jacket, his left clutching Trucy's left hand. Both young women are leaning against him—Trucy is _petting_ both Apollo and Athena, Clay realizes after a moment, her right hand moving from Apollo's hair to Athena's and back as she hums an unfamiliar song.

This isn't good. Something must have happened while Clay was following Starbuck around the Space Center—something _big_ , something that has Apollo on the verge of transforming. Clay can practically taste the energy in the air, the metal-and-electricity scent that he refers to as ozone for lack of a better word and to fit with Apollo's use of _electric_ as a descriptor for the feel of the Change washing over him.

Apollo's eyes focus abruptly, widening as he obviously sees Clay. His right hand frees itself from Athena, grabbing at Clay's coat.

He isn't _quite_ able to keep contact, Apollo's fingers sliding together like Clay's clothes and figure were formed from cotton candy or tissue paper, but it's far closer to the Change and touch than Apollo should be when riding in a car driven by a presumably-not-werewolf.

"Go to Klavier." Apollo's voice is low and hoarse. "Please. Help him?"

Clay glances around at the worried, frightening faces surrounding them. "Something happened to Klavier?"

"Shot." Apollo draws a deep, gulping breath. "But something's _wrong_."

The taxi driver casts a hesitant glance in the mirror. "You guys sure you don't want me t' take you to—"

"The Prosecutor's Office, please." Phoenix speaks calmly, his expression perfectly bland, but Clay can see the way his fingers are twined together until the places where they grasp turn white. "And Apollo, let's try not to scare the man, all right? I know you're worried about your friend, but he's in good hands."

Apollo's lips pull back from his teeth for a brief second, and Clay finds himself angling his body so that it's between Apollo and those in the front seats.

Not that it _matters_ , because to Phoenix and the driver Clay isn't here at all.

Then Apollo closes his eyes, pulls Athena and Trucy closer to him, and nods. The scent of werewolf in the car decreases slightly, though when he opens his eyes Apollo still stares unerringly at Clay.

"I'd love to help, if I can." There is nothing Clay would like more than to be _useful—_ than to be able to interact with the world again. (To be _alive_ again, though he tries to be grateful for what he has, for the fact that souls _do_ continue after death, for Apollo being able to see him—so _much_ he has to be grateful for, and the fact that he talks and talks to Starbuck and Aura and never gets a response shouldn't _matter_ so much.) "But even if I go, he'll only be able to see and hear me if he's close to Changing and that could be _bad_."

Apollo just continues to stare, his jaw set hard.

"You think there's something I can do?" Clay tilts his head to the right.

The tiniest nod, a bare motion that hopefully no one else in the car will notice.

"I'd have to be able to _get_ there, and the fastest way might be with you guys. I can only do the whole appearing-out-of-thin-air thing if someone's thinking about me." It took him a while to notice it. When he first died, it seemed like _everyone_ thought of him all the time—like he could go anywhere he wanted just by willing it. As time passes, though, it has become more restrictive. Apollo he can almost always get to within a few minutes of deciding that's where he wants to be; Starbuck he can _usually_ find, especially when his mentor is at work.

It's not _so_ bad, having to walk or ride places like a normal person (a living person). There's even a little bit of fun to be had, sometimes, in jumping on and off trains and buses and tagging along in people's cars just to see where they're going.

None of those help him with getting to Klavier and helping Apollo with his pack, though.

 _Please_. Apollo mouths the word, the scent of werewolf increasing in intensity again. _Go_.

"I'll _try_ , like I said, but I don't know why he'd be thinking about _me_ if he got shot or what I'll be able to do."

The ghost of a smile flits across Apollo's face, and he rolls his eyes as he silently mouths his reply. _Pack_.

"I'm pretty sure you're the only one who thinks a ghost can be part of a werewolf pack, little wolverine." Clay closes his eyes. Reaching out one hand, he rests it against the tingling, sizzling energy that is his alpha-werewolf best friend.

If this _doesn't_ work, Clay doesn't want to lose his place in the car.

It's frighteningly easy to ignore everything that is happening around him, to focus just on the soft currents that always seem to be moving through whatever dimension it is that he and the other ghosts inhabit. Once he has blocked everything out, it is just a matter of listening for his name—of finding that faint echo of _himself_ that is others' memories and moving to occupy it. Apollo is blazingly obvious, but if he focuses very, very hard on Klavier—on the times he and Klavier have talked, discussing Apollo, discussing Clay, discussing music and wolves and the wonders of the world—

It is barely there, a tiny, flickering, hard-to-grasp pulse. He _almost_ manages to catch it, to ride it back to where Klavier is, but he isn't quite strong or fast or adept enough, and when he opens his eyes he is still in the cab with Apollo.

Apollo bites his bottom lip, his eyes red and bloodshot. His shoulders slump, dejection settling hard around him.

Closing his eyes again, Clay hugs himself tight. He _knows_ Klavier, and Klavier knows him. Klavier _did_ think of him, even if it wasn't a very _strong_ connection, and if he just works _harder_...

He almost catches it, the second time. He can feel the start of the _blink_ that will take him from Apollo's side to Klavier's, but even as he is trying to move he can feel his connection slipping and—

 _Go on, Terran_. The words aren't actually spoken, but Clay understands them all the same—hears the woman's voice in his head, clear and precise tones. Strength and surety flows through Clay, and he abruptly knows _exactly_ how to get to Klavier, has no doubt in his mind that he can make it. _Protect Phoenix's little pack_.

It isn't the first time Mia Fey has spoken to him, but it's the first time she's actively helped him do something. Clay didn't even know it was something she _could_ do.

He doesn't get a chance to thank her, though, his consciousness abruptly uprooted from the taxi and deposited in an unceremonious heap in a dim stairwell where two prone figures lie.

Two prone figures and one disembodied soul, and Clay feels as though all the hair on his body is abruptly trying to stand on end. Frigid power swirls through the stairwell, focused on the ghost-man kneeling in front of a bloody, barely-conscious Klavier.

They look remarkably alike. Apollo told him they did, of course, and Clay had watched the news clips the same as everyone else when the Misham trial happened, but there's something _eerie_ about seeing the brothers side-by-side.

One a decent person, one a manipulative bastard.

One bloody and obviously in pain, one calm and collected.

One _living_ , though Clay worries about how long that will last, and one very obviously dead.

Dead and doing _something_ to Klavier, Kristoph's left hand cupping Klavier's cheek, the fingers of his right drawing symbols that _smoke_ against Klavier's bare skin.

A low whine escapes Klavier's throat, and Clay throws himself at the other ghost. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

Kristoph disappears from his position in front of Klavier before Clay can manage to grab him, reappearing instantaneously behind the man holding Klavier—a man with a bloody shoulder and what looks suspiciously like a crescent-moon scar coming up on his neck. "This doesn't concern you, Mr. Terran. I would appreciate it if you didn't interfere."

"Doesn't concern me? You're doing something weird to my best friend's pack!" Clay stations himself between Klavier and the other ghost, trying not to stand inside of either Klavier or the unknown man as he does.

"He is my brother." Kristoph adjusts his glasses, stalking in a slow circle around Clay. "And a member of Justice's pack by accident, not design. He belongs to me."

"See, in most civilized places, people don't _belong_ to anyone. Not unless they give themselves to that person, make a mutual happy arrangement." Kneeling down, Clay runs a brisk hand over Klavier's forehead and hands and stomach, dispersing the strange smoke that clings there. Klavier draws a deep, shivering breath as Clay does, his eyes seeming to focus a little better. "I somehow doubt that's what you did."

Kristoph crosses his arms in front of his chest, studying Clay through blue eyes that are a similar shade to Klavier's but utterly lacking in Klavier's humanity. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself involved in. No idea what's really happening, or what certain portents indicate is coming."

Clay smiles, though he dislikes the way Kristoph is talking, the certainty and smugness in his voice. "You're right. I don't know much. How about you fill me in, then?"

"I think not, little astronaut." Kristoph smiles, and Clay finds himself fascinated by how similar and yet _different_ it is from Klavier's smile. "I prefer not to give my enemies information, especially if they're not intelligent enough to discover it for themselves."

"So we're your enemies now?" Clay arches one eyebrow. "Pretty big leap from _he's my brother_ to _you're my enemies_ , don't you think?"

"Not so big, when your brother ensured you'd die." Kristoph's smile vanishes as he stares down at Klavier's prone form, hatred and rage seething just beneath the surface of his words.

"You really were there." Clay takes a step toward the other ghost. "The night Klavier transformed, you really were trying to kill him."

Kristoph circles around, away from Clay, his eyes still fixed on Klavier. "That was just a bit of sport—vengeance, I suppose, though it's such a trite word. Now that I've a better idea of what's happening... he _owes_ me, you see. I intend to collect on the debt. If you'd prefer not to be destroyed, stay out of my way."

"Or what?" Clay puts his hands on his hips. "You'll kill me?"

He can feel the flicker as his body _changes_ , his undamaged chest becoming a blood-spattered, punctured mess. It isn't the first time it's happened; it won't be the last; and since it doesn't affect _him_ , how he moves and feels and interacts (or doesn't) with the world now, Clay doesn't care.

"There are far worse things that can happen to a man than death." Kristoph's body changes, too, gaping wounds opening on his neck and wrists, torrenting blood down in a grisly show.

Taking a step back despite his best efforts, Clay quickly reclaims his healthy, whole form.

Kristoph's voice drops to a gentle whisper as he does the same. "And even worse things that can happen to a soul. Stay out of the way, Clay Terran."

Then Kristoph is gone, and Clay is left alone in the stairwell with Klavier and the unknown man.

Drawing a deep breath, Clay shakes his hands off, unpleasantly surprised to see that some of the dark smoke seems to have lingered. "Your brother is a piece of work, Klavier. Not that I don't think you noticed already."

"Clay..." Klavier breathes out the name, his right hand questing forward in jerky, uncoordinated motions. "...'Pol...?"

"On his way." Clay hunkers down in front of Klavier, studying both the werewolf and the man holding him closely. "You just hang on until he gets here. Who's your buddy? He's pretty cute."

"...'Bastian." A tiny smile ghosts across Klavier's face, though it fades into a frown almost immediately. "I... _biessen_..."

"Whatever that means, it's going to be all right." Clay forces a smile, reaching out to pat Klavier's shoulder instinctively.

His hand goes _through_ Klavier, as it usually does with anyone except a werewolf in wolf form, but there's an odd sense of _resistance_. It isn't _quite_ the resistance that he felt from Apollo when Apollo was trying to grab him in the cab, and it _stings_ , like the prickling of static shocks against his hand.

Klavier shivers, a violent shudder, and whines low in his throat.

"It's all right, rock star." Clay resists the urge to touch the prosecutor again, hoping that his voice in concert with Bastion and what seems to be Ema on the phone will be enough to bring comfort. "Help's on the way. They'll know what to do."

Clay's not sure that's actually true, but it seems like a good thing to say, and it helps keep both of them calm until Gumshoe and Edgeworth come storming up the stairs, hopefully with a better idea of what to do next.


	4. Chapter 4: Extraction

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to everyone reading! I'm halfway through case 3 of Spirit of Justice and enjoying the game quite a lot. Mild warning for descriptions of blood and injuries in this chapter.

 _ **Chapter Four: Extraction**_

Edgeworth tries to keep up with Gumshoe as they charge up the stairs, but despite Edgeworth's frequent use of stairs Gumshoe quickly takes the lead. Even having Gumshoe divert to grab the closest first-aid kit hadn't managed to give Edgeworth enough of a lead to stay ahead of the detective.

That's all right. It's probably best for Gumshoe to be the first to approach Klavier, if Klavier is disoriented enough to be attacking his friends. Besides, it gives Edgeworth more time to try to get desperately-needed information.

The phone goes to voice-mail for a second time, and Edgeworth resists the urge to throw it against the wall, instead hanging up and redialing immediately. He'll call one of the local alphas if he has to—Shae, at least, had seemed amenable to reason—but given that one of the local alphas might very well have been involved in what's happened—

"Mr. Prosecutor." Lang's voice is a low, rumbling growl. "I'm a little _busy_ right now, so if you don't mind—"

"Gavin's been _shot_." Edgeworth has to pause to draw breath after the sentence. Aren't they at the top of the stairs yet?

A moment of silence, during which Edgeworth thinks he can hear doors opening and closing, and then the wind howling rough across the phone's speaker. "Where? When? By who?"

"In the leg, minutes ago, and I'm not sure exactly by whom." Gumshoe has rounded the final corner, and Edgeworth drags in a deep breath and puts on another burst of speed. "I just don't know what to _do_. Is it _safe_ to take him to a hospital, or—"

"It'll be fine, Edgeworth." Lang's voice is all calm confidence. "You remember when I got shot in the leg, right? Werewolf powers. We heal remarkably quick. If it didn't kill him right away, give him a few hours and he'll be fine. Bigger problem is his control. Is Piano Pup still human, or—"

"Still..." Edgeworth comes to a halt at the top of the stairs, taking in the tableau before him.

Gumshoe has gathered Gavin into his arms, is holding the prosecutor tight to his chest. Klavier has his head nuzzled tight to Gumshoe, though blood-slick blond hair is stuck to his right cheek. Sebastian is leaning against Gumshoe's shoulder, as well, the young man shivering and pale but looking relatively uninjured.

There is blood _everywhere_. Edgeworth knows that isn't true, but it's what it feels and smells like. The entire left side of Klavier's body is slick with it, though most seems to have clotted and his black pants at least keep some of it from being obvious. A belt has been cinched as a make-shift tourniquet around Klavier's left thigh.

"Edgeworth?" Lang's questioning voice is sharp, worried.

"Still... human." Edgeworth crosses the short distance to Klavier's side, hunkering down on his heels with a slight grimace. There's no possible way he's going to be able to avoid getting blood on at least his jacket, though he intends to try none-the-less.

"Impressive." Pride radiates off Lang's words. "That'll show anyone who said a twice-removed made wolf was cursed. Try to keep fabric away from the wound—depending on how fast he heals, you could end up having to cut it out of flesh later, and that's always terrible."

Edgeworth cradles the phone against his ear, freeing both his hands. Opening the first aid kit, he pulls out a pair of bandage scissors and begins peeling the soaked black fabric away from the entrance wound.

Klavier whines, a low, tired sound of pain, but he doesn't stiffen or try to move away from Edgeworth. Gumshoe strokes a hand through Klavier's hair, over and over again, promising that Edgeworth's presence and the pack coming and Gumshoe being there mean that Klavier is going to be all right.

It would be sweet, if Edgeworth were able to believe it.

Swallowing hard as the extent of the injury becomes visible, Edgeworth makes sure the phone is situated so that Lang can hear him. "It's not healing."

A beat of silence passes, and Edgeworth begins to worry that Lang has hung up on him again when the Interpol agent finally responds. "What do you mean, it's not healing?"

"I mean it's not healing. I've seen healing injuries, and this... is definitely not what they look like." Edgeworth keeps his fingers carefully away from the injury, not wanting to further contaminate the ugly, darkly bruised wound. "He hasn't Changed and he isn't healing. What could cause that?"

What sounds at first like silence is actually a low growl that builds into a full-throated snarl of pure rage. "Lady's _blood_ , the bastards wouldn't—oh, but yes they would. How coherent is he?"

"Gavin's coherency level?" Edgeworth looks first at Klavier, but the werewolf doesn't seem to be able to respond to him. Turning his gaze to Gumshoe, he receives a brief shake of the detective's head, though Gumshoe doesn't stop his petting or his stream of soft reassurances.

Pushing himself into a proper sitting position on visibly shaking arms, Sebastian reaches across to touch Klavier's shoulder. "Since—since he was shot, Klavier's been either unconscious or hallucinating."

Lang hisses before Edgeworth can relay the information, and Edgeworth quirks an eyebrow up. Clearly Lang's hearing is at least somewhat better than the Interpol agent usually lets on. "Mr. Prosecutor, very important—was it a through-shot, or is the bullet still in him?"

"Still in him." Edgeworth affirms with a tactile inspection what his eyes are telling him, trying not to grimace at the feel of blood sticky-slick against his hands. "No exit wound."

"Of course it is." Lang snarls again, an incoherent sound of canine ire. "One last important thing. Smell the wound. What's it smell like?"

Edgeworth blinks. "Excuse me?"

"Smell the wound and tell me what it smells like!"

"Ah... hmm." Bending down, Edgeworth sniffs experimentally at Klavier's leg. "Detective, could you tell me what, if anything, you are able to scent from the injury?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sebastian looks between the two of them as though they're crazy, clearly finally gathering his wits about him. His body continues to shake minutely—the first sign of the Change starting? How badly will Sebastian be hurting? Klavier's transformation had been agony, but perhaps the extra two days will be enough to mitigate the worst. "Are paramedics coming? An ambulance?"

"Prosecutor DeBeste, I don't have time to explain everything to you right now." Edgeworth's not sure he has the proper words to explain everything to Sebastian—that is something that he would prefer to have Gavin or Justice or Woods do. "I swear, though, I am trying to protect both Prosecutor Gavin and yourself. There is something... _unusual_ about Prosecutor Gavin's physiology right now—"

"Whatever happened three—four weeks ago." Sebastian scrubs a hand over his face. "That's what this is about, right?"

Edgeworth tilts his head, considering the answer. "Yes. Yes, it is about what happened then."

Sebastian gives a jerky nod. "And... you'll tell me when everything's safe?"

Edgeworth inclines his head. "I will tell you as soon as time allows."

Exhaling a deep breath, Sebastian leans down and sniffs Klavier's leg, his complexion somehow paling even further. "It smells like f-fire."

"Like a storm, after lightnin', mixed with a barbecue." Gumshoe hugs Klavier closer to his body. It should probably make it harder for the blond man to breathe, but he seems to relish the contact, instead.

"Fire and lightning and blood and..." Edgeworth tries to find words to describe the scent. "Something _unhealthy_. Not quite rotten, but..."

"Silver. Someone fucking shot him with a silver bullet." Lang _howls_ , a drawn-out shudder of wolf-noise over the phone. "Someone betrayed you, Mr. Prosecutor. And if you want him to live and not give away everyone's secret, you need to get the bullet out _now_. He won't heal until you do—probably won't even clot."

Edgeworth leans back, staring between the wound and the suddenly paltry-seeming first aid kit. "I thought you said silver wasn't as dangerous as the stories make it out to be!"

"It's _not_." Lang snaps back the response. "We can touch it without problem. The problem comes when it's inserted past our skin surface—when it can interfere with _what we are_. It's going to _kill him_ , Miles Edgeworth, unless it's removed, and if you let a _human_ paramedic remove it he will most likely Change as soon as it's done, thereby screwing over himself and the rest of us. _Get it out_ , now."

"I don't..." Edgeworth looks between Gumshoe and Sebastian, both of whom are staring at him with expressions of utter faith and trust. Klavier's eyes don't quite seem to focus properly, but when he notices Miles looking at him, he smiles, a bleary but very obvious expression. "I'm not a _doctor_ , Lang."

"You don't have to be. Like I said, we heal well as long as there's not damn _poison_ in the wound. Get it out and his body'll do the rest, especially if his pack's with him." Lang's voice drops, becoming almost pleading. " _Please_ , Mr. Prosecutor. I _like_ Piano Pup and his pack. If they do well, we can get a lot of good out of their simple existence. Don't let some damn fool ruin it all before we even get a chance."

Edgeworth studies the other two people with him. Sebastian isn't going to be able to assist him, and certainly wouldn't be able to act alone, the young man continuing to shiver minutely. It would be possible to ask Gumshoe to attempt removal of the bullet—likely the bullet _fragments—_ but then it would be up to Sebastian and Edgeworth to hold Klavier still.

"Edgeworth—"

"I'll do it, Lang." Edgeworth's words come out rougher than he intended them to. "I just... I need a moment to consider how I want to go about this."

"Thank you." The gratitude in Lang's voice is utterly heartfelt. "I would do it for you if I could, Mr. Prosecutor, but I'm a little far away. Just get the silver out, and everything will be fine."

It's the kind of reassurances that Gumshoe has been whispering to Klavier—just focus on this one single task, in Klavier's case breathing, in Miles' case _surgery—_ and everything else will fall into place.

"I'm going to hang up now." Edgeworth takes his phone gingerly with his right hand, trying not to transfer any blood to it. "So that I can focus on what needs to be done. Can I call you back as soon as it's over, to discuss what happens next?"

"You better do that. I want to hear that the pup's alive and ready to hunt." The sounds of doors opening and closing again is obvious in the background. "You call me as soon as you're done. If I don't pick up immediately, just call again."

"All right. I'll talk to you momentarily, Agent Lang."

Edgeworth doesn't allow himself to hesitate before hanging up. If he hesitates, he will think too much about what he's doing and how many ways this can possibly go wrong.

Sliding his phone into his jacket pocket, still trying his best not to transfer blood onto objects he will need in the future, Edgeworth looks down at his hands. So far as he knows, lycanthropy is solely transmitted via biting. If it's not...

Well, it's only one of several blood-borne diseases that he has just put himself at risk of by not using proper protective equipment, not that he thinks Gavin is likely to have any of them.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Edgeworth throws the garment over the stair rail, where it will hopefully be out of the way of blood. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he extracts a pair of thin surgical gloves from the first aid kit and dons them. "Prosecutor Gavin. Were you able to understand what's been discussed?"

Klavier tries to struggle into a more natural sitting position and fails, his lips a terrible grey-white as his teeth chatter together. "I... it... _burns_."

"Yes." Kneeling down by Klavier's outstretched leg, Miles selects the longest pair of tweezers available in the first-aid kit. "The bullet in your leg is most likely silver. Silver is toxic to you and Justice and others of your kind if it breaks the skin barrier. If I don't remove it, you'll die."

Klavier studies him for a moment, his eyes actually seeming to focus. "You'll... fix it?"

"I'm going to try to, Klavier." Edgeworth draws a slow breath in through his nose, regretting it as the scent of blood and fire and lightning redoubles. "It's likely going to hurt. Try not to move. Detective Gumshoe, if you could hold him still while I—"

"I..." Klavier once more struggles to sit properly, though his left leg doesn't seem to move at all. " _Bie—_ bi—"

"We know you bit Prosecutor DeBeste. We'll deal with it once we have you healing." Edgeworth resists the urge to bite his lip as he moves the tweezers closer to the bullet hole. "Detective Gumshoe, please keep him as still as you can; Prosecutor DeBeste, if you could begin removing any constrictive items from Klavier's person—with the exception of the tourniquet—I would appreciate it."

"Con—" Sebastian runs a hand over his face, frowning. "Constrictive?"

"Yes. Rings, necklaces, shoes, things of that nature. I will also need you to remove the tourniquet on my command, but absolutely _not_ before." Edgeworth waits a moment, but no one protests his orders. "Brace yourself, Gavin. I'll be as quick and neat about this as I can be."

There is nothing else he can do to stall—nothing _good_ that can come of stalling, since their chances of discovery increase by the minute—so Edgeworth plunges the tweezers into the hole, fishing about for anything that feels like a metal fragment.

Fresh blood trickles slowly from the wound as he works, but it isn't as much as he feared it would be, and he closes his eyes, all of his attention focused on the strangely-cold instrument that he is using to the best of his ability.

XXX

"It's all right." Clay keeps both his hands hovering around the bullet wound. He doesn't know if it's actually _helping_ , but if part of his ghost-power is taking away energy, and part of the problem is Klavier's werewolf energy interacting with the silver... well, he figures it won't _hurt_ , at least. "Your boss gets the bullet out, you go back to feeling great, everything's fine!"

Klavier looks between Clay and Edgeworth, not seeming to see any difference between the living and the dead. " _Danke_... Clay. It doesn't... burn so much."

"You're welcome." Clay smiles, relieved to hear Klavier speaking in more complete sentences. "Ghost-pack, at your service!"

"Can you..." Klavier arches, his breath drawing in as a ragged sob, but Gumshoe keeps the prosecutor from moving too much as Edgeworth pulls a small, crimson-coated piece of metal from the wound. "Sorry. Tell... 'Pollo... 'Bastian... _sorry_..."

"You're going to tell them yourself. Hell, you just _did_ tell Bastion yourself, he's sitting right here. Plus we need to talk about this whole thinking-you're-going-to-die, immediately-apologizing thing you do. It's probably not healthy, though I'm sure Athena can talk more to you about that than I can." Clay forces his focus back to smaller, more innocuous topics as Klavier's eyes lose their focus. "But don't you worry. We're getting all the bad silver out, and we're going to make sure your dick of a brother can't do anything to you, and everything's going to be _fine_."

"Fine." Klavier pants out the word, his hands curled tight against Gumshoe's arms where the big detective holds him.

"You're fine, pal." Gumshoe rubs his head against Klavier's.

"You'll be all right." Bastion pats Klavier very gently on the head with his left hand, his right busy holding Klavier's small collection of jewelry.

"One of these days you're going to give up on the whole rings-and-earrings-and-necklace thing, you know." Clay grins, hoping that if he distracts Klavier from what Edgeworth is doing it won't hurt the man so much. "One day you'll realize it's just more work than it's worth to have to remove them all, like a sane person."

A tiny, forced smile appears on Klavier's face. " _Nein_. I... think... not."

Edgeworth doesn't look up from his work, and Clay watches sweat bead on the prosecutor's deeply furrowed brow.

A jerky movement of the tweezers—forceps? Clay can't remember what the difference is—and Klavier stiffens once more, his hands pawing helplessly at Gumshoe's solid bulk.

"Apollo's going to be here so soon!" Clay hopes that it's true, though he doesn't know exactly how long it takes to get from the Wright Anything Agency to where they are. "He's going to be so happy to see you."

Klavier tries to smile again, his breath panting in and out in low, whining huffs. "See... _rudel_..."

"That's right." Clay re-positions his hands, trying to keep them from sinking _into_ Klavier's leg, where the strange stinging energy still swarms. "I think. It's really hard to learn German when you can't hold a book or surf the Internet alone, sadly."

"Have..." Klavier snarls, and his left leg jerks violently as his whole body arches. "Work..."

"Definitely have to work on it." Clay nods, wishing he could talk to Bastion, as well. The man is clearly terrified as he looks between Klavier and Edgeworth, but he isn't running or fighting them, his trust in the people surrounding him obvious and sweet. "Just a little bit longer. Just a few more tries..."

He hopes it's just a few, at least. He's not sure how much more strain Klavier's body can take, and he doesn't really relish the thought of having a new ghost to show the ropes to.

XXX

Klavier tries to keep his focus on Clay and Gumshoe and Sebastian, to ignore what Edgeworth is doing.

It helps that between the burning fire and Clay's frigid touch, he usually can't feel much of what Edgeworth is doing until he snags a piece of silver.

Then Klavier can't help but feel it. While the embedded pieces of metal are a bonfire burning slow and steady, the _moving_ ones are trails of napalm, impossible to ignore or manage.

He fights Gumshoe. He doesn't want to. Gumshoe is pack, and Klavier _wants_ to stay still, but he simply _can't_. It _hurts_ too much, as though someone is slowly pulling him apart, flaying him alive with red-hot wires.

Except piece by piece, agonizing thread by agonizing thread, the pain fades.

The wolf leaps closer to the surface every time, Gitarre frantic and terrified and _angry_. Klavier should probably try to fight him, to control the wolf-that-is-him, but he's not sure he has enough fight left in him.

Finally, after what seems like a small eternity, the core of the fire begins moving, dragging its way slowly, slowly, _slowly_ toward the surface of his leg. Klavier's body arches without his permission, and he is vaguely aware of Gumshoe's arms around his chest, Sebastian suddenly lying across his legs.

Then it is _gone_ , the fire draining away as though it never existed, and Gitarre throws back their head and _howls_ as their body finally, _finally_ tumbles into the transformation that they have been trying to undergo for the last little bit of eternity.

XXX

"Take off the tourniquet!"

Edgeworth's voice snaps out the command, and Sebastian tries to force his fingers to move even as his eyes tell him something that absolutely, positively can't be true.

Klavier's body is _changing_. A howl that is more bestial than anything Sebastian has ever heard before pours from his friend's mouth, and Klavier's body _rearranges_ itself as he screams. Fine blond hair give way to soft blond fur that spreads out to cover all of Klavier's skin—skin that is _shifting_ , twisting and twining over new bone arrangements, and Sebastian is very glad that the fur makes it harder to see what is happening underneath.

Gumshoe jerks Klavier's jacket and shirt off as Klavier's neck arches back and his shoulders rotate forward, into a conformation that will allow for easy quadrupedal motion.

Edgeworth jerks off the tourniquet that Sebastian hasn't quite managed to touch, his blood-coated gloves slipping the first time he attempts it. Once the tourniquet is dealt with, he knocks Klavier's boots off feet that are decidedly inhuman before helping the now-squirming almost-wolf to free itself— _himself—_ from the blood-soaked black pants and purple underwear that Klavier had been wearing.

The wolf's eyes close once the transformation is done, the creature seeming to melt against Detective Gumshoe as it heaves a deep sigh.

Stripping off the gloves he had been wearing, tossing them into the first aid kit along with the bullet fragments and the bloody instrument he had been using, Edgeworth reaches toward the wolf's neck. Then he hesitates for a moment, two fingers extended, before sighing and placing his hand palm-down on the wolf's chest instead.

The yellow wolf slits open its— _his—_ bright blue eyes, and his tail moves slowly but methodically in a little wave. The beast's tongue pokes out, and he licks tentatively at the empty air in front of his mouth for a moment before closing his eyes again and lying still.

"A strong heartbeat." Edgeworth rocks back onto his heels, then leans forward with a grimace and begins parting the blood-matted fur that covers the wolf's left leg. "And... that appears to be healing. It's at least clotted quite nicely. If Agent Lang is to be believed, and I have no reason to doubt him, Prosecutor Gavin should make a full recovery, particularly if brought into proximity with his pack."

"You did amazin' work, Mr. Edgeworth." Pride is evident in Gumshoe's words and in his eyes, though he doesn't move, staying on the ground with the wolf held close to him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. There's still a great deal that we need to do." Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Edgeworth rolls down his shirt sleeves, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the fine pink coloration that smeared blood has turned his hands to and the smudges that his fingers are leaving on his white shirt. "Starting with getting out of here. Prosecutor DeBeste, are you able to walk?"

Sebastian looks between Edgeworth, Gumshoe, and the _wolf_ that Gumshoe is currently petting. "K-Klavier—"

"Is a werewolf." Edgeworth grimaces again as he says the noun, moving over to the railing and slinging his coat back on. "He has been for the last several weeks. The bullet in his leg was silver. It was poisoning him. Now that it's removed, he should recover without incident. Can you stand?"

"I... uh..." Sebastian pushes himself shakily to his feet, finding that the world only sways a _little_ as he does. "I think so. Though I don't... I feel..."

"Steady there." Edgeworth grips Sebastian's shoulders, helping to keep him vertical.

Closing his eyes, Sebastian leans his head against Edgeworth's chest, drawing deep breaths as he tries to get his heart to stop beating quite so fast and his stomach to stay firmly in place.

The fingers of Edgeworth's right hand glance against the skin of Sebastian's neck, in the same area that Klavier bit him. "It's all right if you don't feel very good right now. It's all right if you need to ask for help. There is a great deal that we need to explain to you, and I intend to do so as quickly as possible. First, though, we need to extricate ourselves from the area and this situation. We're going to walk down the stairs, and you and Detective Gumshoe are going to head to my car, all right? If anyone asks about Klavier, say that his name is Gitarre. He's your dog, and he was struck a glancing blow from one of the bullets. You and the detective are taking him to get treatment from a veterinarian. Do you understand?"

Sebastian nods, his voice feeling weak and strained. "I think so."

"Good." Edgeworth takes a step back, studying Sebastian's face. "What is the dog in Detective Gumshoe's hands?"

Klavier. The dog is a _wolf_ and the wolf is _Klavier_ , but even if Sebastian told somebody that he doesn't think they'd believe him. And if Edgeworth is trying to keep this a secret, then there's likely a very good reason for it. "The dog's name is Gitarre. He's mine. I'm taking him to the vet."

"Very good." Edgeworth smiles, a tiny curl of the edges of his mouth upward. "It's all right if you're nervous or disconnected while saying that—people will assume you're just worried about your pet."

"Which isn't entirely untrue. I _am_ very worried about Gitarre." Sebastian frowns, turning the word over and over in his mouth. "Gitarre... that's not—"

"German for _guitar_." Edgeworth's right eyebrow twitches just slightly. "Gavin has an... interesting naming sense. He responds to his name in either form, though. It is your friend still, just... different."

"Right." Sebastian draws and releases a deep breath. "And you'll meet us at the car?"

Edgeworth nods, letting go of Sebastian so that he can tuck the now-closed first aid kit tight against his side, like a precious package. "I'm going to ensure that the investigation is in hand before meeting you at my car. This will be my _personal_ investigation."

The emphasis that Edgeworth places on _personal_ makes it immediately clear that whoever did this is going to regret their decisions.

Watching Gumshoe clamber to his feet, Klavier's limp wolf form cradled carefully in his arms, Sebastian finds his teeth pulling back from his lips in a vicious snarl.

Edgeworth will find and take care of whoever did this. Sebastian has no doubt about that. It's likely a very _good_ thing that he will do so, because Sebastian's not sure he trusts himself to be reasonable or logical if he catches up to the person responsible first.


	5. Chapter 5: Regroup

**Author's Note:** I'm to the last case in Spirit of Justice! Not very far into it, but I'm to the part that will apparently Change Everything We Know. This is still not Spirit of Justice compliant, and I still deeply appreciate everyone who's reading. Thank you!

 _ **Chapter Five: Regroup**_

Edgeworth starts barking orders as soon as they encounter other people, gaining a situational analysis for himself and distracting attention from Sebastian and Gumshoe. Gumshoe does as he was instructed, taking Klavier and Sebastian down to the parking garage where Edgeworth's car will provide a little bit of a safe haven. No one seems to notice the collection of bloody clothes and jewelry in Sebastian's hands, their attention on the injured "dog" when it's not on Edgeworth—exactly as Edgeworth wanted it.

The police are starting a thorough search of the buildings surrounding the Prosecutor's Office. Everyone has been searching for Sebastian, since Ema's report had stated that Sebastian told her he was being shot at but hadn't been able to give his location before the phone went dead. Edgeworth will have to thank the young woman for a nice little bit of subterfuge that bought him several critical minutes.

A flush flares up across Edgeworth's skin, and he resists the urge to grimace in distaste. He _hates_ that he has to use the word _subterfuge_ in combination with an investigation. There shouldn't be subterfuge involved in justice—not save for the subterfuge needed to ensure the criminals don't flee before the trap is sprung. Lying to his own people, directly misleading them... _this_ is why he tried, for a very long time, to pretend that he didn't know werewolves existed.

Now the werewolves are _his_ , though, his responsibility and his people, and he will damned if he lets someone box him into a corner about revealing something before he is ready. If he ever decides that the best thing to do is to announce the existence of werewolves to the world, there won't be a news agency in a four hundred mile radius that doesn't hear about it. _Until_ he decides that's the best thing, that it won't bring all the other werewolves in existence down on his people's head and quite possibly all of the human world gunning for them as well, the secret is Miles' to keep.

The cover story about Sebastian having a dog that was injured works surprisingly well to explain the blood on Edgeworth's hands and clothing, and no one attempts to take the first aid kit that he is holding tucked into the crook of one arm. If they knew it contained bullet fragments, they would undoubtedly pounce on it, but until Edgeworth knows it won't give away more information than it provides, _this_ bullet stays with him.

Edgeworth extricates himself from the immediate investigation as quickly as he can, after delegating to forensics and Blackquill those tasks he wants to ensure are done quickly and properly. Blackquill watches him through narrowed, too-intelligent eyes as Miles does it, clearly suspecting that there is something lying underneath Edgeworth's orders, but Miles doesn't trust anyone else enough to give them authority over the investigation.

Stalking down to the parking garage, Edgeworth arranges his next moves in his head. He will take Klavier and Sebastian and Gumshoe to his house, where Apollo and the rest of their pack can meet them. He will ensure Sebastian understands what's going to happen to him, and do all that he can to reassure the young man that he will survive and his career won't suffer. Then he will return to the investigation, knowing that everyone else is safe and in capable hands with Phoenix present to protect them.

(He will be able to get _clean_ while he is at home, to wash the blood from his skin and quarantine his bloody clothes until such time as they're determined salvageable or not, but he can't afford to think of the blood right now, so he doesn't.)

Once he's certain he's far enough from the hubbub that no one will overhear, Edgeworth pulls his phone out and once more punches in Lang's number.

The phone rings five times before the agent picks up—a millisecond or two before it would have gone to voicemail, Edgeworth thinks. Lang's voice is a low, threatening growl. "Piano Pup?"

"Healing, I think. Unconscious in Detective Gumshoe's arms in... _fur_ , shall we say, when last I saw him." Just because Edgeworth is _fairly_ certain no one can overhear him doesn't mean he should be completely free with his words. "I intend to take him to my place."

Lang makes a neutral sound, not quite a growl, though it still has rolling undertones of wolf to it. "His place or yours are likely best, until he's recovered enough to have decent control."

"Mine." Edgeworth doesn't add any explanation. (The blood doesn't matter. The blood will wash off.) "Unless you think it's a bad idea?"

"I think whoever did this knew exactly who they were shooting—you don't go to the trouble of silver-coated bullets if you're not hunting werewolves. Who knows what else they know? Never assume you're safe or that your location is unknown." Lang's voice hardens. "You have a good security system, Mr. Prosecutor?"

"The best, even before you get to the angry canid pack that I suspect is going to be prowling about." Edgeworth doesn't quite run down the stairs, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but he does walk quickly. "How long until he's recovered?"

"Depends how much residual silver there is—how much of it got into his blood, how much's still there as little fragments in the muscle. If he Changed, though, he'll heal." Lang hesitates. "Though... it might not be a bad idea to have someone take a look at him."

"Indeed." Edgeworth can feel his eyebrows draw together as he frowns fiercely. "Pray tell, agent, should I be looking for a doctor or a veterinarian?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Mr. Prosecutor, I'm just thinking out loud." Another pause, several seconds of agonizing silence during which Edgeworth can only hear the sound of his own footsteps and his steadily-more-ragged breath. "You're going to need local help—someone who knows exactly what's going on."

Edgeworth huffs out a sigh. "Ms. Woods, do you think? Or her mother?"

"Her mother isn't local—too far out of the city. As for little Ms. Evergreen... she'll certainly do the best she can for you, but she's young and she was just under threat of death last month. That's not the kind of assistance you need."

Gritting his teeth, Edgeworth allows himself to pause for a moment. "You want me to trust one of the people who could have done this?"

"I want you to call Shae Pack-Builder." Lang's voice drops to its lowest register, each word of the name clearly enunciated. "I'm going to get out of here as soon as I can, but it's likely going to be at least twenty-four hours before I can be there, possibly closer to forty-eight. And even if I were to drop everything here and charge right over..."

"What?" Edgeworth snaps out the question with more force than is probably justified.

"Wolves respect strength, Mr. Prosecutor." Lang's voice is soft. "Having me there, having Firebolt there, it'll provide a little bit of protection, in the short term. But _you_ promised that you were going to take care of Firebolt and Piano Pup. _You_ agreed to keep them out of trouble, just like Justice and Gavin agreed to follow all the rules. If I come charging in, throwing my weight around, insisting that you not be punished for a clear breach of protocol..."

"They'll see me—us—as weak." Cold spreads from the center of Edgeworth's chest out toward his arms. "The second you're gone..."

"And as much as I like you and as much as Justice's pack means to me—and it means a _lot_ , do not let me undervalue that—I have no intention of uprooting myself and settling permanently in your city." Lang sighs. "I'm not sure if I _could_ , even if I wanted to. That's a discussion for another time, though. Right now we need to get you allies that are local and that are trustworthy. And the one I trust most is Shae. She's strange, with ideas that not everyone likes—teaching old wolves new tricks is _almost_ as hard as most people think it is. But she's honest. I like her and her pack. Aside from Woods, she's the least likely to have been involved in this mess."

Edgeworth resumes his brisk walk towards his car. "Aside from being a so-called 'pack builder', I take it this Shae has medical skills?"

"So far as I know, she's got the same medical skills me and any other wolf has, which is that we're pretty good studies of anatomy. There's a doctor and a veterinarian in her pack, though."

"A werewolf veterinarian." Edgeworth repeats the words just to ensure that he heard properly.

"A werewolf veterinarian." The grin that is undoubtedly on Lang's face is obvious in his tone. "Give Shae a call—you've got her number, I'm assure, amidst all your human-liaison stuff. What I can tell you about trying to help Piano Pup heal is get his pack around him, get him to eat, and try to keep someone else from shooting him again before he's healed."

"Absolutely priceless advice, Agent Lang."

"Mr. Prosecutor, you're going to wound me if you're not careful." All hint of teasing abruptly drops from Lang's voice as he continues. "Be careful. This is going to be a dangerous hunt, and one where the outcome could change a lot of things for a lot of people."

"I'm going to protect my people, Agent Lang. And I'm going to see justice done." There is a certain serenity that comes with saying the words out loud, as though having a destination makes the road map to get there much easier to navigate.

"I know you will, Miles Edgeworth." Edgeworth can easily picture the open-mouthed, fang-bearing smile that goes with Lang's tone. "If you weren't such a cat, you'd make a damn good alpha. Call me when you need me."

Before Edgeworth can retort to the alpha comment Lang has hung up, the line going instantly dead.

Slipping his phone into his pocket with a sigh, Edgeworth decides that it isn't _quite_ worth the international charges it would incur to call Lang back and demand he retract his statement about Edgeworth making a good alpha.

Sliding into the driver's seat of his car, Edgeworth turns around to study the trio huddled together across the back. Gumshoe is still holding Klavier in wolf form, Gavin's breathing slow and even but the wolf otherwise appearing to be unconscious. Sebastian is huddled against Gumshoe's left side, his head on the detective's shoulder, his hands buried in Klavier's ruff, shivers running up and down his body at unpredictable intervals.

A frown etches itself into Edgeworth's face again. Sebastian is undoubtedly starting to Change. If there is any fairness in the world, Edgeworth finds himself hoping, then please, _please_ let it be an easier process than Gavin's. "I'm taking us to my place. Everyone will be safe there. I'm going to call Wright and have him bring Athena and Apollo there, as well—Apollo is a werewolf, too, the alpha of Prosecutor Gavin's pack, and Athena is _going_ to be a werewolf and a member of said pack at the coming full moon."

"Right." Sebastian's voice quivers a bit, but he attempts to sit up straighter. "Um... and that's... it's _safe_ , him having an alpha that's a defense attorney?"

Edgeworth's eyes flick to Klavier's prone form. "It seems that there is very little safe about being a werewolf, period, but if you're concerned that Justice will somehow try to sway Gavin's opinions on cases... I don't believe that he would try, and I'm certain that Gavin wouldn't allow him to get away with it."

Sebastian's expression hardens, his mouth turning down in a small frown, and Edgeworth suspects that Apollo Justice is going to have a great deal of fast talking to do in order to earn Sebastian's loyalty.

Resisting the urge to sigh again, Edgeworth eases his car out of the parking garage and presses the accelerator to the floor, eager to get to his house and on to the next steps in the investigation.

XXX

They both feel it when Klavier starts recovering. The terrible, driving _need_ to be with the pack, to be _together_ , to be able to _defend_ those who need it, drops away.

Athena hadn't been hit by the impulses nearly as badly as Apollo had been. She doesn't know if that's because she's not _quite_ pack yet or if it stems from the same place that her immunity to the ill effects of transformation comes from, but she's grateful for it either way. Just the arm's-length impulse to be _there_ and the borrowed pain and need that she picks up from the echoes in Apollo's voice every time he speaks are enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"It's gone." Apollo abruptly slumps against the backrest, a deep sigh seeming to pull itself from the depths of his body. He doesn't release the tense hold that he has on both Athena's jacket and Trucy's cape, but there is a different feel to the contact—a desire for comfort rather than clinging for dear life. "Mr. Wright, the... he's all right. We still need to _get there_ , but I think... I think he's going to be all right."

"That's great!" Trucy lays her head against Apollo's side, snuggling in closer to the werewolf—to the man that they are all certain she is related to, somehow, given their sharing of a bloodline and the similarities that the wolves pick up in their scents.

Athena slips her arm across Apollo's shoulders. "Everything's going to be all right."

"Of course." Phoenix smiles, twisting around so that he can see them. "We'll be there as soon as we can be, anyway, and then we can all see for ourselves."

The cab driver eyes them, clearly unhappy about this fare despite the money it's going to make him. Normally Athena would feel bad about how they're frightening the man. Right now she just wants to have the pack together, to feel Apollo's body finally start releasing the tension that still has his muscles corded tight.

A few minutes later Mr. Wright's phone rings, and he listens intently for about twenty seconds before nodding and hanging up.

"A new destination, please." Phoenix's voice is calm, but he is sitting straighter, his eyes bright with the combination of tension and buried rage that Athena can hear twining through his voice.

The address that he gives the cab driver is for the Chief Prosecutor's house.

The rest of the drive is completed in silence and relative stillness, the three of them curled together in the back and Phoenix alert and tense in the front seat.

The cab hasn't quite rolled to a stop when Trucy and Apollo have their seat belts off and are piling out of the cab; Athena follows just a moment later, calling over her shoulder to the boss that they'll meet him inside.

The security system slows them down, partly because Trucy has to slap Apollo's hands away from it and dial in the numbers herself when he attempts to punch it because it didn't accept his code input the first time.

Athena knows why as soon as she stops and draws a breath. Her senses aren't nearly as acute as they will be—as Apollo's are—but they are acute enough and the scent is thick enough on the stoop that she recognizes it anyway.

Blood.

Someone stood here covered in blood not that long ago—someone touched the doorknob with a bloody hand, the fingerprints showing in faint pink smudges.

As soon as the security system is disabled Apollo is through the door, Trucy and Athena on his heels. The inside of the house feels strangely silent to Athena. The last time she was here, Apollo, Klavier, Juniper, Robin, Hugh, and Lang were all running around as wolves; Gumshoe and Ema were coming and going, getting the information they would need to make informed decisions about whether or not they wanted to accept the transformation. To walk into the house and see it empty and pristine and silent...

They don't stop to take their shoes off. Apollo is clearly following a trail, his nostrils flaring with every breath, and Trucy and Athena follow Apollo, Athena wanting to be there in case either Apollo or Klavier need help.

The door to the room where Klavier first transformed—the room that Trucy has said is usually hers when she stays with the Chief Prosecutor—is open, and Apollo charges through it, practically pouncing on the bed where Detective Gumshoe is sitting with a distressingly limp blond wolf and an unfamiliar man in his mid-twenties.

The strange man is petting Klavier's head, gentle strokes between Klavier's eyes and along the side of his muzzle and around his ears. The wolf is lying on his right side, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

He looks _awful_. Athena has seen Klavier in his wolf form many times, though the last was a little over three weeks ago, when she was bitten along with the other initiates into Apollo's pack. Normally Klavier's fur is a bright golden color, as light and well-maintained as his hair in human form; now it seems to be a dull straw-yellow where it isn't matted with blood. The wolf seems _thin_ , too, the contours of his body showing unhealthily. Klavier is lean and his wolf is lankier than most of the others, not as solid as Apollo's or as well-muscled as Robin's or Hugh's, but it's always been a tense, eager lankiness, whereas this...

Detective Gumshoe is sitting with a bucket of gently steaming water and a pile of rags—rags that in most other houses would probably be seeing service as something else, saved up to form a blanket or some such. He grabs the bucket and hastily sets it on the floor when Apollo flings himself at the bed, saving everyone from a solid dousing.

Athena wishes she had thought to catch Apollo. Perhaps she could have kept things from degenerating quite so much if she had.

She _understands_ why Apollo is acting, though. She can _feel_ the need to touch Klavier, to make sure he's all right, to protect and defend him while he recovers; she just isn't quite caught up in it enough to forget human decorum.

To the man currently petting Klavier's head, Apollo's desperate charge apparently looks like a threat, because he leans forward, his upper body shielding Klavier, and _growls_ at the alpha werewolf.

Apollo growls back, a vicious sound that rumbles out from deep in his chest, and attempts to shove the stranger off Klavier.

At which point everything explodes, the stranger throwing himself at Apollo with a battle-cry that sounds more like a howl of tears, and the two end up rolling around on the floor.

Apollo is irritated and angry, his voice a simple cord of obvious intent as he grapples; the stranger is _terrified_ , but there is a backbone of steel determination to his voice despite the glistening grace notes that tears add to his stuttered insistence that Apollo stay _away_.

Trucy throws herself into the fight before Athena can decide what to do, grabbing the stranger around the neck in a surprisingly adept choke-hold. "Don't you dare try to keep Polly away from Klavier, you _jerk_!"

"Mr. Justice, Prosecutor DeBeste— _Trucy—_ " Gumshoe waves his arms in frantic but vague motions over the combatants, clearly not certain which one to grab, Klavier's wolf form abandoned on the bed.

Athena knows that trying to stop Apollo right now will just infuriate him further—will _hurt_ him, and Apollo has already endured enough during whatever injury Klavier suffered. So she joins Trucy, wrapping her arms around the unfamiliar prosecutor and hauling him bodily away from Apollo. "Mr. DeBeste, I _promise_ that we're not here to hurt Klavier. We're—"

Klavier whines, a low, strained sound of fear and confusion, and both Apollo and DeBeste freeze, their heads snapping toward him.

The wolf raises his head a few inches off the bed, paddles weakly with his front legs, and then collapses back down, panting heavily. His blue eyes flick frantically from Apollo to Sebastian, and he whines once more, a low tone of agony.

Apparently deciding that Apollo and Sebastian aren't likely to kill each other in the next thirty seconds, Gumshoe settles back down on the bed, laying a hand on Klavier's flank. "It's all right, Mr. Gavin. Don' you worry. They're jus' bein' silly. No one's gonna get hurt."

Apollo recovers faster than DeBeste, leaping from the floor to the bed in a move that is half-human, half-lupine. One hand buries itself in Klavier's ruff; the other lifts Klavier's head, very gently settling the blond wolf's face in Apollo's lap. "It's all right. I'm right here. Nothing's going to be able to hurt you any more."

There are other sounds, too, inhuman _whuffs_ , the scent of wolf growing thick in the room, and Athena can hear how close Sol is to the surface in Apollo's voice.

Tilting his head so that he can stare up at Apollo, Klavier allows his mouth to hang open and his tongue to loll out in a canine gesture of pleasure. His left front paw also kicks, though, the motion weak but deliberate, pointing at DeBeste.

DeBeste, for his part, is _shivering_ as Athena and Trucy hold him, tears sliding quietly down his face as he watches Klavier and Apollo.

That's not right. There's no reason for him to be afraid. There's no reason for him to be hurt.

Pressing her head against his shoulder, Athena hums out a short series of notes. "It's all right, DeBeste. You're both safe."

"No one here wants to hurt you, Bastion." Apollo is bent practically double, his nose buried in Klavier's fur, his eyes shining as they always do when he's accessing his wolf's power for something—most probably listening to Clay, since no one Athena can hear has said the name Bastion yet.

The man's shivering subsides dramatically, his body relaxing against her. "Oh dear. I think.. I might have... overreacted. I _know_ you. You're Justice and Cykes, the d-defense attorneys. And... Trucy? Is that you? You've grown. A lot."

Releasing her hold on Bastion DeBeste's neck, Trucy skitters around to get a better look at him, peering up into his face. "Mr. DeBeste... I know you! You work with Uncle Miles! You've had to babysit me before."

Athena has a sudden image of Edgeworth leaving a much younger Trucy with random young prosecutors and has to suppress what would probably be a very inappropriately-timed snort of mirth.

"You're..." DeBeste swallows, leaning back hard against Athena. "You're... Klavier's pack? You're here to help him?"

"We're here to help him." Athena rubs her cheek against the prosecutor's head for a moment before forcing herself to stop, because that's a very _weird_ thing to do to a human you've just met. "You know about Prosecutor Gavin's... condition?"

"Clay says you saved Klavier's life." Apollo's breath stutters out—not quite a sob, not quite a scream, but there is rage and grief and terror slick and stinging on every syllable, and Athena barely resists the urge to slap her hands over her ears. It is too soon, far too soon, for Apollo to handle something like his only full pack-member dying. "I don't have words to express my gratitude, Bastion."

"Yes, well..." A flush rises up to tinge Bastion's neck pink. Shaking his head, DeBeste sits up, gently disentangling himself from Athena's arms and attempting to straighten his clothing. "I think we've all got a fair amount to talk about. I'm Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste, and I'd really like to know what's going on."

Gumshoe has retrieved his bucket and is once more attempting to clean some of the blood away from Klavier's flank. "I think that's a good idea, all of us catchin' up on what's been goin' on."

"To start with..." Sebastian frowns, looking somewhere between put out and curious. "Why do you keep calling me 'Bastion', Mr. Justice, and who is Clay?"

"Because Clay says that's your name." The ghost of a smile crosses Apollo's face. "He's _still_ insisting that Bastion's your name—says that's what Klavier called you, and that he trusts Klavier's knowledge of his own friends."

Sebastian looks more rather than less confused.

Sighing, Athena clambers back to her feet and reaches down to help Sebastian rise to his. "I think we'd better go a bit further back in our explanations, and then you can fill in what we don't know."

No one protests, so Athena begins explaining what happened last month, skimming over Juniper's part and focusing just on Apollo and Klavier's experiences. Hopefully once Sebastian knows the basics of what's been happening, everything he's seen today will start making sense.

XXX

Phoenix finds Miles in the master bathroom.

A trail of clothing leads to him. At first it doesn't look daunting—though Miles would never normally throw his greatcoat down in a heap on the floor, the blood stains on it aren't obvious. The waistcoat is more intimidating, but only because one of the beautiful gold buttons has been turned a dull red-black by clotted blood. His cravat... well, Phoenix knows that Miles has several of them, so it probably won't be considered too much of a loss if the cleaner's just decides to give up and burn it.

Miles has his blood-spattered white dress shirt untucked, the sleeves rolled up as far as they will go. He is washing his arms methodically, repeatedly, his left hand going to the half-empty soap dispenser before lathering up his right arm, then his right hand repeating the process. It's clear that there _was_ blood on his arms before, the pristine white of the sink spattered with pale pink spots, but now the water runs clear.

"Edgeworth?" Phoenix speaks quietly, though he thinks from previous experience that Edgeworth will have heard him and the others come in.

Edgeworth doesn't look up, his brow furrowed in concentration as he continues to scrub at his clean skin.

Well, that's not good.

Easing his way further into the bathroom, Phoenix clears his throat loudly. "Miles?"

From the way Miles startles, you would think Phoenix had attacked him with an electric cattle prod. Water and soap suds scatter out of the sink as Edgeworth leaps back.

"Whoa whoa!" Holding up his hands, Phoenix forces a tentative smile. "It's all right. It's just me."

"You." Edgeworth blinks, his throat working as he swallows. "Wright."

"That's right." Phoenix's smile becomes more genuine as Edgeworth focuses on him. "The cavalry has arrived."

Edgeworth nods, closing his eyes. "Apollo and the others?"

"Here, already in the room with Klavier. I figure they're probably just going to be in a giant fuzzy cuddle-pile for a few minutes, so I came to find you." Taking a step forward, Phoenix reaches out to touch Edgeworth's damp forearm. "Are you...?"

Opening his eyes again, Edgeworth offers Phoenix a tiny, tired smile. "Gavin didn't bite me, if that's what you're worried about. I just..."

Edgeworth stares down at his arms—at his _hands_ , turning them over and over.

Taking Edgeworth's hands firmly in his, Phoenix studies them as intently as he ever has Trucy's—more intently than he ever has Trucy's, really, Edgeworth having been much more the go-wash-or-no-dinner type than Phoenix ever was. "Clean. Not a trace of anything, not even around the cuticles or under the nails."

Another tiny smile toys at the edge of Edgeworth's mouth. "Since when do you know the word _cuticles_?"

"Since Trucy made me play Scattergories with Aunt Franziska." Phoenix folds Miles' hands together, keeping them clasped tight between his. "Though I can blame _you_ for the fact that I know this is a Lady Macbeth thing you've got going on. Want to talk about it?"

"When you so charmingly refer to it as a 'Lady Macbeth' thing? Not particularly." Miles leans forward, though, his weight resting against Phoenix's shoulder, and he makes no move to pull his hands free.

"Don't worry. I know that you're no lady, and I would use a fancier word than _thing_ if I knew one, but I don't." Phoenix shrugs. "Athena hasn't gotten to that part of my psychological education."

Miles narrows his eyes. "The worst part is that I can't tell if you're joking or not."

"The consummate poker player, that's me." Phoenix chafes his hands against Miles', hoping that his cheerfulness will actually help rather than hurt. "Come on, Edgeworth. Tell me what's going on. I can't help if I don't know exactly how hopeless our situation looks, after all."

A low, hollow laugh shakes Edgeworth's chest. "An unknown entity has been successfully tailing our group for long enough to shoot Prosecutor Gavin with a silver bullet at a time when it would cause the _most_ damage, to the pack and to Gavin himself. Without any of us noticing what was happening."

"I think you're exaggerating, Edgeworth." Phoenix tries to smile encouragingly. "It can't be that—"

"I just spent somewhere between five minutes and _eternity_ digging fragments of said silver bullet out of Gavin's leg, while Gumshoe held him and Gavin _screamed_ as though I were killing him." All color seems to flee from Miles' lips, and a shudder runs the length of his body.

A similar shiver runs through Phoenix, and he finds himself imagining what it would be like to have to do the same thing for Apollo or Athena—or, heaven forbid, Trucy, if she succeeds in getting her way and becoming a werewolf. "Damn, Miles. That's—that's _incredible_ , that you were able to do that—that you were able to help him."

"Is it?" Miles' lips twitch up into an uncertain, half-bitter smile. "Because it feels like far too little far too late. Gavin bit Sebastian as soon as he was shot—Sebastian already has the scar. It's three days until the full moon. I need to tell him what's happening to him, help him try to take it calmly so he doesn't..."

"We've got a lot of going-to-be-werewolves in the house. They'll help him through. He'll be all right." Moving his thumbs in small circles against the back of Edgeworth's hands, Phoenix considers the situation. "You think whoever shot Klavier did this on purpose? Waited until he was close to someone, so that he'd break the rule about not Changing someone?"

Edgeworth nods. "It makes the most sense. Which means we not only have to help Prosecutor DeBeste, we have to find whoever did this and get them to confess if we want a hope and prayer of saving Gavin."

"Which is pretty much tantamount to saving all of them, because I doubt Apollo or Ema or Athena or Gumshoe will just let the other alphas kill Klavier."

Edgeworth grimaces. "I imagine it would go something like this: Gavin attempting to sacrifice himself, Justice insisting it's not necessary, the rest of the pack backing Justice, and then all of us being murdered. Unless I do something _very_ dangerous like announce the existence of werewolves to the world at large, thereby putting a large target on us but also providing us with enough exposure that hopefully they wouldn't dare to act."

Phoenix raises both eyebrows. "Do you think it would work?"

"In the short-term? Yes. In the long-term?" Edgeworth grimaces, his head coming down to rest against Phoenix's shoulder. "Can you imagine what various governments would _do_ if they knew that werewolves existed? If they knew how powerful werewolves are? Soldiers turned into werewolves whether they will it or not. And the general populace... HIV is still incredibly stigmatized. What kind of laws do you think would be rushed through attempting to isolate and control lycanthropy?"

It's far too easy to imagine, actually. Having watched how easily the gallery can be swayed, having experienced first-hand the vagaries of public opinion... the Jurist System is better than the alternative, than power concentrated in the hands of a few who are far too easily corrupted, but would he trust Apollo and Athena's future in the hands of a frightened populace? "It... sounds like you've thought about this a lot."

Edgeworth's shoulders move in a brief shrug. "I've talked about it with Lang, trying to understand why they live the way they live. Trying to determine what all my options are. He's said there are some alphas who _do_ want to announce the existence of werewolves—Shae actually falls into that category, from what Lang's said. Lang himself doesn't think it's quite time. Doesn't trust that his people won't end up enslaved or tortured, and I... can't completely put all his fears to rest."

"So announcing the existence of werewolves is basically our nuclear option. Makes us look strong in the short run, really probably a bad idea in the long run." Phoenix draws a ragged breath of his own, trying to sort out what needs to happen and in what order to try to protect their people. "Does Lang know about what's happened? Is he coming?"

"He knows. He's the one who told me that I had to get the bullet out of Gavin's leg as soon as possible, damn silly little things like actual knowledge of medicine or sterility or..." Edgeworth cuts himself off, swallowing hard, his head pressing more firmly against Phoenix's shoulder. "He'll be here as soon as he can be, which he doesn't think will be any sooner than twenty-four hours. But he thinks... he thinks we need to handle this ourselves, if we want it to actually be a victory that the other alphas will respect instead of just crawling in one piece out of the battlefield."

"Hey, sometimes that's all you can do—crawl off the battlefield and figure out how to stand up in time for the next one." Phoenix lets out his breath in a long, slow sigh. "But I like the idea of a decisive victory, if we can manage that. So. Our to-do list, then."

Miles straightens, though he still doesn't pull his hands free of Phoenix's hold. "First, make sure Gavin's actually going to survive this. Lang swears he will, provided we get him to eat and keep his pack around him, but he also told me to call Shae and trust Shae's pack. They're sending over someone with medical knowledge."

"Sounds like you've done just about everything you can for that step, then." Phoenix smiles encouragingly. "Step two: help Sebastian DeBeste figure out what's going on?"

Edgeworth hesitates before shaking his head. "We need to, but first I have to go back to the crime scene—I haven't talked to Ema since before I removed the bullet from Gavin's leg. She was helping to coordinate the investigation. I need to _take over_ the investigation, before Blackquill figures out anything he shouldn't, and—"

"Okay! Step two: we get you back to the crime scene, so you can handle the human side of the investigation. Maybe you take someone with you, to help Ema?" Phoenix's eyes dart toward the room where Klavier was as he remembers the way Apollo and Athena sat so still and focused until they tumbled out of the car, driven to get to Klavier. "Step three: while you do that, I try to explain things to Sebastian?"

Edgeworth frowns. "I have a... history with Prosecutor DeBeste, Phoenix. If someone's going to tell him that his life's been irrevocably changed, I'd prefer it be me."

"I remember you have a history. I _do_ listen when you're telling me about your people. Usually." Phoenix squeezes Edgeworth's hands. "You can't be in two places at once, though."

Closing his eyes, Edgeworth draws in a deep breath. "The investigation comes first. If Sebastian starts feeling unwell or asks if he's going to become a werewolf, tell him the truth; if he doesn't ask, I'll explain as soon as I'm back. Does that seem reasonable?"

"Very." Releasing Edgeworth's hands, recognizing that Miles has pulled his composure back around himself in preparation for doing what they need to do, Phoenix shoves his own hands into his jacket pockets. "I'll stay here, take care of the pack and let the werewolf doctor in. You go do whatever a prosecutor needs to do during an investigation. We meet back here and determine our course of action and explain things to Sebastian as soon as possible. Sound good?"

"Sounds... reasonable. Not ideal, but feasible and it should get everything accomplished." Straightening, Miles carefully rolls down the sleeves of his shirt and buttons the cuffs. "You're comfortable holding things down on this end? Handling Shae's wolf and whatever... intricacies that brings?"

"I'm fine handling whatever werewolf madness comes. I'll even summarize my duties for you." Holding up a finger for each point, Phoenix smiles. "One, make sure Gavin eats and stays with the pack. Since the pack is most likely super-glued to him, I doubt that'll be a problem. Two, welcome Shae's doctor-wolf and let him or her do their doctor-thing. I know how to open doors, and I like to think I'll be able to talk at least Apollo and Athena down from anything crazy. Three, make sure our wolves stay safe. So long as you leave me Detective Gumshoe, I very much doubt I'll have an issue there."

"It does sound rather manageable when couched in those terms." A tiny smile toys at the edges of Miles' mouth. "Even for you, Wright."

"That's because I'm pretty darn amazing." Backing out of the bathroom, Phoenix gives Edgeworth space to finish getting dressed.

Miles does, pulling another black waistcoat and ridiculous but beautiful coat and cravat from his closet. He spends only about fifteen seconds staring into a mirror and adjusting his dress, but when he's finished, he looks every inch the calm, cool prosecutor that defense attorneys throughout the city fear.

Glancing at Phoenix, Miles fiddles with his already-perfect cuff-links. "Wright... Phoenix... thank you."

"You've done it for me before, when I'm overwhelmed. I'm sure you'll do it again." Giving a little half-shrug, Phoenix rubs at the back of his neck. "And I'll probably do it again, too, when the next great big weirdness comes and shakes up your view of the world. Just remember you're not in this alone. Delegate some of your tasks. Trust our people."

"For all that we're trying to take care of them, they are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves." Miles gestures toward the door. "Shall we go see how our pack is doing and go about completing our tasks, then?"

"After you, Chief Prosecutor." Giving a mock bow, Phoenix waits for Edgeworth to exit the room before following him toward the guest bedroom that is half-Trucy's, half-Klavier's now.

The enemy caught them by surprise, hurt them before they even knew what was going on.

Now that they're getting their feet under them, preparing a counter-attack, Phoenix is certain they can make whoever's responsible regret their decisions.

He's also buying Trucy a Kevlar body suit for her birthday, assuming he can finagle the money out of Miles to do it, but first he's going to make the shooter pay.

XXX

Sebastian has somehow ended up in the center of a pile of near-strangers, Klavier's werewolf form stretched across all of their laps. Apollo is still bent practically double over Klavier, his hand buried in Klavier's ruff, his nose moving frequently as he sniffs the werewolf. Sebastian is on Apollo's left-hand side, supporting Klavier's back legs; Athena is on Apollo's right, Klavier's head resting gently in her lap. Trucy Wright is curled up on Sebastian's other side, playing with Klavier's tail; Gumshoe continues his futile efforts to remove all the blood from Klavier's pelt.

It should be incredibly awkward. It should be _frightening_ , at least to a degree. (It _is_ frightening, on some level, and if it weren't clear that Klavier wants him here Sebastian knows it would have been harder to stop fighting him. Every time Klavier is around Justice, it seems, he ends up hurt. Perhaps— _probably_ —that's not Justice's fault, but right now...)

Even leaving aside that it's defense attorneys he's resting next to it should be awkward at the least. Sebastian has never been a terribly physical person. It wasn't something his father ever allowed, and though Sebastian has learned to appreciate hugs and physical contact through Klavier and Kay's affectionate touches over the years, _this_... this is something else entirely.

And yet... this is also something that feels _right_ , in a hind-brain, instinctive way. This is something that he knows he should be worried about but he _isn't_ and the fact that he isn't scared or worried somehow makes him _more_ scared and worried and his head is really starting to _ache_ and—

Athena's hand brushes against his shoulder, very lightly, and Sebastian sighs as the headache backs away. Putting his arm around Trucy, he hugs the young woman close to him. She, at least, is someone he knows, and she seems to appreciate the contact, leaning into him and offering him a smile. (He doesn't know if he will ever feel comfortable enough with Apollo to risk resting his head against Apollo's shoulder, but somehow the idea is sorely tempting, and he doesn't _like_ that.)

Klavier shifts slightly, raising his head to give Gumshoe a mournful look with ears pinned back as Gumshoe scrubs vigorously at his leg.

Setting the rag he'd been using aside, Gumshoe pats gingerly at Klavier's hip. "Sorry, pal. I think the only way we're getting you clean is throwing you in the shower. I tried, though."

The blond wolf's head falls back dramatically against Apollo's chest as he heaves a deep sigh. His eyes are wide open now, though, focusing with ease on everyone, and his tail continues to wag slightly with most of his interactions.

His _tail_ , and Sebastian clears his throat, hoping what he really wants to ask isn't going to be offensive to anyone. "Is he... um... he's going to change back soon, isn't he?"

Apollo studies Klavier, his eyes drawing together and narrowing. "I don't know. Do you feel up to changing back, Klavier? Do you _want_ to? Do you... need help?"

Klavier rolls his head to the right, staring at a point on the far wall for a few moments. Then he tries to roll to his feet, tumbling off their legs and off the bed in a pile of ragged blond fur.

Gumshoe catches him, which is good, because it quickly becomes apparent that Klavier's left leg isn't up to holding much weight. A little trickle of fresh bright red blood even wells up in the center of the light-pink patch that Gumshoe had been working on, and Klavier's mouth reaches around, his ears pinned back, the wolf clearly intending to bite at it.

Gumshoe's finger comes down gently on Klavier's muzzle, steering it away from the wound. "I wouldn't do that if I was you, Prosecutor Gavin. You don't want t' hurt it more, do you?"

Before Klavier can do anything more, Edgeworth appears in the bedroom doorway, immaculately dressed in _non_ -blood-covered clothes. "Good. You're all here. That will make this easier. I'm going back to the crime scene, to acquire Ms. Skye and take over the investigation. I'd like one of you to accompany me; the rest will stay here to guard and assist Prosecutor Gavin. Also try to get him to eat. Lang says it will speed healing. One of Shae's pack, a doctor recommended by Agent Lang, will be by shortly to see if there's anything else we can do for you, Gavin."

Standing, Klavier's lanky body suspended easily from both arms, Gumshoe deposits the wolf back on their laps. "I'll come with you, Mr. Edgeworth."

Edgeworth starts to nod, and then hesitates.

"If you don't mind..." A lawyer that can only be Phoenix Wright sidles past Edgeworth and into the room. "I'd prefer to have you here, Detective. You're good with a gun, you're pack, and you've got the upper body strength to do things like lift Prosecutor Gavin if it becomes necessary."

Justice _growls_ , a low sound of irritation as he resettles Klavier on his lap. His eyes seem to shine with an abnormal light, catching any stray illumination and reflecting it back at the room with a silver tinge added. "We can move Klavier if we need to."

Wright crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I have no doubt you _would_ , if you needed to, but he weighs more than you and bench-pressing him like the Detective just did is a little outside your abilities or mine."

Opening his mouth to protest, Justice finds his face being bathed by a wolf's tongue and sputters to a stop.

Settling his head back down on his paws, the wolf that is Klavier huffs out a handful of breaths that _almost_ sound like laughter.

Gumshoe rubs at the back of his neck. "Plus none o' you guys have licenses to carry, yeah?"

Closing his eyes, Apollo draws a shuddering breath and nods. "You're right. It makes sense to keep Gumshoe here, if he doesn't mind. Should I... go with Prosecutor Edgeworth? If you think Ema needs the pack..."

Apollo's voice actually _cracks_ on Edgeworth's name, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Klavier's fur.

"I'll go." Athena wraps her arms around Apollo's neck, hugging him tight for a moment. Apollo leans hard against her, his breathing immediately relaxing. "If Ema went through what we did, she'll probably appreciate someone from the pack being there."

Edgeworth nods. "In all honesty I'll probably be sending her back here as quickly as I can, and taking over the investigation without any wolves involved. At the moment we have to assume all of you are potential targets. Whoever did this knew what Klavier is, which means they have access to information that only the other wolf packs in the area are supposed to know."

Nodding, Justice smooths a hand over Klavier's head, earning more tail-wags. "We'll have to be careful when we go out to investigate."

Sebastian knows the expression on Edgeworth's face—he wants to say _if_ he allows any of them to investigate, but he's refraining at the moment. "Investigation will come once we have more facts to string together and better ideas about who to investigate and how. I don't suppose you know how to drive, Ms. Cykes, in case Ms. Skye isn't up to the task?"

Athena grins, giving Apollo's arm one more pat before disentangling herself from their strange pile and moving to stand beside Edgeworth. "I can. I've even got a license. I've never driven anything as fancy as what you've got, but it can't be all that much harder, right?"

"Wait." Wright studies his employee. "You've got a license? Since when?"

Athena shrugs. "Since January 5th. Prosecutor Blackquill had to take the driving test again to get his license back, so I helped him study and decided I might as well get mine at the same time. It's something useful to have, even if I doubt I'll get a chance to use it much for a while. Not unless I've got a big raise coming."

Wright's mouth quirks up into a smirk. "Not unless Will Powers gets himself accused of murder again. All right, then. You two get on the road. You lot... who's the best cook?"

Sebastian shares an uncertain look with Apollo and Detective Gumshoe.

Trucy throws her hand up in the air, practically bouncing in place. "Me! Pick me, Daddy!"

Gumshoe tentatively raises his hand, as well. "I'm a pretty good cook, I guess. Benefits of cookin' on a budget."

"Excellent. Trucy, show the detective where everything is in the kitchen, if he doesn't know." Phoenix claps his hands together. "Our favorite werewolf Interpol agent says that eating will help Prosecutor Gavin recover, so we're going to make him eat."

Klavier whines, shoving his face down between Apollo's arm and his side.

Sebastian hesitantly runs his hands over the rough fur of Klavier's back and sides, feeling bones far more prominently under the wolf's fur than he would like. "If it will help make you feel better, Klavier..."

Pulling his head out of its hiding spot, Klavier twists so that he can see Sebastian. After staring at him for a long second with eyes that are far too similar to his human eyes—eyes that seem to cause something to _twist_ in Sebastian's head, and the headache that Athena drove off with a touch is starting to come back—the wolf dips its head in a very human nod before dropping his muzzle back down into Apollo's lap.

A brief flurry of activity follows. Athena and Prosecutor Edgeworth disappear, presumably to go find Ema and see about the investigation. Detective Gumshoe hefts Klavier up into his arms and carries him to the Chief Prosecutor's master bathroom, where Sebastian and Apollo help keep him standing while Wright washes away the blood under a stream of warm water. While they are busy gently toweling and blow-drying the blond wolf, Trucy and Gumshoe cook up a surprising amount of meat. Some of it they present in a big bowl to Klavier, who reluctantly begins nosing pieces about; some they proclaim as destined for the still-human people in the room, and Sebastian finds that he's surprisingly hungry.

"Come on, Klavier." Taking a piece of still-bloody meat from the bowl, Apollo works it slowly into the corner of the wolf's mouth. "Just a little at a time. I know you don't feel good still, and eating is super unappealing, but you need to do it."

Biting into what appears to be a burger crafted from a filet mignon and some kind of home-made bread, Sebastian decides that Justice and Wright can't be _too_ terrible, given the care they're showing Klavier and the rest of the group.

Sebastian's still going to watch everyone closely and do everything he can to keep Klavier safe. (He _needs_ to help keep Klavier safe, a bone-deep certainty that brings both his conscious intentions and the throbbing headache-pain that is growing into a semblance of agreement.)

But maybe, just maybe, he won't have to do it alone.

XXX

Apollo should probably try to drag himself away from Klavier. He should probably let Sebastian "Bastion" DeBeste take his place, cradling Klavier's head and encouraging him to eat. It's getting easier with each bite, Klavier seeming to be both less frail and less in pain, and it's not like Klavier's going to bite DeBeste.

Not again, at least.

Even if Clay hadn't told him what happened, Apollo would have known. Sebastian is starting to smell of wolf, an aroma that Apollo finds far more exhilarating than he should. Even if Sebastian is going to be a werewolf, there's no guarantee he's going to be all right being in Apollo's pack.

Which is _fine_ , because Apollo doesn't _know_ him, even if he's someone that Klavier clearly cares about, and Apollo already _has_ a pack forming. Klavier's injury has made that blazingly, blindingly obvious, Ema and Athena and Gumshoe all feeling the same referred pain and need to _help_ that Apollo had when Klavier was injured. Though it's still not _done_ , still not set in stone, it helps Apollo's wolf relax a little, knowing that there is a proper pack forming around them.

"This has really shaken you up, huh, pollywog?" Clay sits cross-legged on top of the dresser. Apollo hadn't seen him clamber up, but he seems content to survey them from his position.

Raising his gaze to study Clay, Apollo narrows his eyes.

"Yeah, you're right. Stupid statement. It's just... well, it's both interesting and kind of... sad, seeing you in full-on protective alpha mode." Clay shrugs, his gaze falling from Apollo to Klavier. "He's starting to look better, though. Which is good, because I've got some other things to tell you that you're probably not going to like."

Apollo would narrow his eyes further, but that would probably involve closing them. Since talking to thin air when only Klavier-the-wolf can understand who he's addressing will likely just lead to questions, Apollo has rather limited options. Perhaps he and Clay should start studying sign language together.

"I'm glad you sent me to him. I _do_ think I was able to help, both with the silver-bullet thing and with..." Clay ducks his head, sighing noisily. "Since I can't think of a way to say this that _isn't_ going to make you furious... Kristoph Gavin was there, as a ghost, drawing symbols on Klavier in some kind of black smoke that seemed to be hurting him."

Apollo _yowls_ before he even realizes that he's going to do anything, a sound that somehow manages to combine fear and utter _rage_ into one drawn-out vocalization.

DeBeste cringes back, his hands over his ears, whimpering low in his throat as he closes his eyes.

Struggling into a sitting position, Klavier nips Apollo once on the arm before collapsing so that his head is in Sebastian's lap, his nose pressing gently at Sebastian's hands until his tongue can reach through to bathe Sebastian's face.

"Yeah." Clay rubs his thumb against his right ear, grimacing. "That's about how I thought you'd react."

"Why—earlier—" Forming words is _hard_ , the wolf surging silver-bright under his skin, and Apollo forces himself to close his eyes and draw several deep breaths. He needs to stay human. He needs to be able to talk to Shae's doctor when they arrive.

"I didn't tell you earlier because I figured _he'd_ want to tell you." Clay gestures down at Klavier. "The ghost being that of his brother and all. Since you look like you're almost over the my-pack-almost-died thing and _he's_ still fuzzy... I want you all to know to look out for spectral interference."

"Right. So we can guard against it." Apollo nods. "You said... he was doing something? With smoke?"

"Yeah." Clay nods. "There was this cold black... _stuff_ sticking to Klavier when I got there, and when I wiped it off he seemed to breathe better and focus better. Kristoph seemed to be using it for something, I don't know what. He ran off when I got there, saying all sorts of cryptic stuff like _the portents show something will happen_ and _stay out of my way if you don't wish to be destroyed_. Nothing actually _useful_ , though."

A female voice breaks into the conversation—one Apollo has never heard before, though he has heard _similar_ ones, and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "You never know when something that's said will be useful."

Apollo knows this woman. He has seen her picture among Phoenix's personal possessions; he has seen bits and pieces of her features in Maya and Pearl. She has been dead since he was fifteen years old, but that doesn't stop him from recognizing Mia Fey.

"Hello, Mr. Justice." Mia steps forward, perfectly balanced on her high heels. One hand moves to adjust her hair; the other is held across her stomach. "I have a message for you to pass on to Phoenix, if you don't mind."

"Uh..." Apollo gives his head a little shake, trying to connect his brain and his mouth again. How has he gotten so acclimated to having Clay around as a ghost, and why is it so disconcerting to him to see others? "Y-yeah. Sure."

Mia smiles. "Tell Phoenix to call my sister. He's going to need Maya's help for this, I think, and it's definitely time she learned exactly how far Phoenix has already dove into the occult."

"Right." Apollo nods. "Tell Phoenix to call Maya, both to get her help and to fill her in on everything that's happened."

"Thank you, Apollo." Mia's smile grows, though it also takes on a softer, sadder edge. "I'm glad that you and Athena are here with Phoenix. All three of you are brilliant attorneys."

Before Apollo can manage to stumble out a reply, Mia is gone, the area where she had been standing simply empty.

"Apollo." Phoenix's voice draws his attention to the doorway. "Was that...?"

Right. So much for not speaking out loud. "Mia Fey had a message for you. Call Maya. We'll need her help. Kristoph Gavin's ghost was trying to do something to Klavier while Klavier was hurt, and Mia seems to think Maya might know something and should be able to help."

Klavier snarls, a tired, frustrated rumble deep in his chest.

Sebastian is hugging Klavier tight, his wide eyes fixed on Apollo.

Forcing a smile, Apollo pats Klavier's flank and offers Sebastian a shrug. "Werewolves can see ghosts. It's pretty cool."

"Right." Sebastian nods slowly. "O-of course."

Klavier's head rises, his tongue lapping out to press gently against Sebastian's throat and chest where his open collar allows.

Before Apollo can give any more explanations, the doorbell rings, and it's time for the next showdown between logic and wolf instincts.


	6. Chapter 6: Repair

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the ridiculously long chapter this time! There just didn't seem to be a nice point to break it up into more manageable chunks. Thanks again to everyone reading!

 _ **Chapter Six: Repair**_

Athena closes her eyes as the car pulls away from the house—not because she's worried about Prosecutor Edgeworth's driving, though he _is_ driving rather faster than is probably strictly legal in a residential neighborhood.

If she closes her eyes, it lets her focus on her breathing more. If she focuses on her breathing, she can keep herself from doing anything silly like whimpering or whining. Prosecutor Gavin is safe. He's probably feeling rather smothered with all the attention that's being lavished on them. Just because he still looks— _smells—_ unhealthy doesn't mean she'll do more good with him and the pack than with Edgeworth.

Especially because there is another pack member who needs her. Ema Skye had taken some getting used to, the woman's frustration with the whole system sometimes spilling out into barbed comments that could strike home with remarkable accuracy, but from the beginning Athena had been able to hear Ema's sincerity and caring in her voice. There is a _reason_ Ema has dedicated her life to society and science, and that reason is a faith in humanity that still lingers, even if it has been battered and bruised through the years.

Besides, it's _silly_ to be so caught up in the pack-magic that she stops being _herself_. Stops being as useful as she can be, and she will be far more useful, in all honesty, if she is investigating instead of petting Klavier or Bastion. When the investigation has been completed to the best of her ability, _then_ she will indulge the instincts that want to have her wrap her arms around her pack and never let them go.

"Are you all right, Ms. Cykes?" Edgeworth's voice is quiet and controlled, as it always is, emotion present but _muted_.

Not so muted that she can't pick up on it, though. He's concerned about her—he's concerned about a great many things, the Chief Prosecutor, including the bloody first aid kit that he had shoved into her hands once she was settled in the car. "I'm fine."

Edgeworth's lips twitch in what could be a smile or could be a grimace. "Of course you are."

Athena smiles herself, though she manages not to laugh. "It's a perfectly good phrase, and I really am fine. I seem... better able to control the wolf instincts than most of the others."

A slow nod, and Edgeworth's voice rings with curiosity, tones creeping upward steadily when he speaks next. "Because you're not quite... one of them yet? Or because of your... gift?"

"Both, I think." Athena shrugs. "I don't think I got hit nearly as hard as Apollo did, though it was certainly an unpleasant experience I'd prefer not to have again. But in general I'm just... not hurting as much as the others. Not having as hard a time adjusting as either Ema or Gumshoe."

"Interesting." Edgeworth's hands flex on the wheel. "Is it something you can share?"

Athena blinks. "Share?"

"Can you use your powers to assist someone else with their transformation?" Tentative hope shimmers like a cymbal crash beneath the question.

"I, uh... I guess I haven't tried?" Athena shrugs, feeling rather foolish. "I've been talking with Gumshoe and Ema pretty much every day—frequently multiple times a day—but I haven't tried to see if I can... share my gift."

"You might not be able to. Justice certainly hasn't given Gavin the ability to alter his dominance. But if you could... it might come in handy over the next few days." Guilt rises in minor chords of frustrated horror throughout the sentence, fear making all the tones metal-slick.

"We'll help each other." Athena studies the Chief Prosecutor, struck by how calm he looks—by how calm he _is_ , only her gift and their proximity letting her know how much he cares. "We'll be all right. We'll all be _fine_."

The ghost of a true smile touches his face. "Justice's pack would likely be saying they were fine even if they were on fire and someone was coming with a gasoline hose."

"In our defense, we probably _would_ find a way to be fine." Athena toys with her earring. "Figuring out how to overcome ridiculous odds and recovering from trauma is kind of our thing."

"I wonder if you've any idea exactly how true that is." One of Edgeworth's eyebrows quirks up. His eyes land on the little kit in Athena's lap, and he continues on before she can decide if it's all right to press for more information. "That kit has the bullet fragments that I removed from Prosecutor Gavin's leg. When we get to the scene, I'll take the kit from you again and find someone in forensics that I trust to examine them. The likelihood of there being any fingerprint fragments that are recoverable is incredibly small, but I imagine one can't exactly buy silver bullets in the store."

"Probably not."

"I'll stay at the scene and take over the investigation. You will retrieve Detective Skye. I texted her to let her know Gavin's stable and we're on our way, but..." Again guilt washes through the words, exhaustion following in its wake as a dragging slow-down of the cadence. "Well. Do what you can to help her. Take Ema's car back to my place if you can; if you can't, if she came in someone else's squad car, take mine."

Athena's eyes widen as she glances around the car. She's pretty certain this car is worth more than her entire law degree. Definitely it's worth more than a first-year defense attorney. "Um..."

"Don't worry." Edgeworth's tone becomes dry again, though entertainment lurks beneath the surface. "I'll know where to send the bill if something happens to the car. I believe your boss already has a file somewhere of bills he never intends to pay."

There is only fondness in the words, so Athena smiles and laughs along with Edgeworth, though she feels again like she's missing some big piece of history that she shouldn't be.

One of these days she's going to have to sit down with Trucy and have the girl fill Athena in on everything she's missed, especially if their pack is going to keep coming under attack like this.

XXX

Ema paces from one side of the roof to the other, resisting the urge to scale the fence and howl out her frustration to the uncaring night.

Why couldn't this happen during the day? They've set up floodlights on the rooftop, but it had taken time and meticulous effort, making sure no evidence was destroyed while they did. Klavier's blood looks almost black in the harsh light, though Ema can smell what it really is clearly.

She wishes she couldn't.

She wishes she didn't _hurt_ so much.

She wishes one of the teams scouting for the crime scene that they _need_ , the building where the shooter stood, would find it already.

She wishes Gavin or Justice were here, that one of them could make her head and her hips and her shoulders and her knees stop _hurting_ so much, and her desire to have them here is infuriating.

Almost as infuriating as the betrayal she feels at Sebastian having accidentally hung up on her, at Edgeworth having texted instead of called her, at being _here_ instead of wherever _they_ are, and it shouldn't _matter_.

Everyone's been reacting as best they could to a crisis situation. This is where she's needed. Once she's got something _useful_ to show Edgeworth, something besides _yeah, someone was shot and bled like a fucking fountain_ , then she can take a minute to collapse or cry or scream or whatever else it is that her stupid body and irrational emotions want to do.

"Skye-dono."

Oh no. She is not up to dealing with Simon Blackquill right now. She has _been_ dealing with Simon Blackquill for the last hour, since it became apparent that he was in charge of the investigation, but she has mainly been dealing by avoiding him. He's too sharp and too hard to predict, and she doesn't have the emotional fortitude to _handle_ him right now.

"Skye-dono." His voice is softer the second time but somehow more insistent.

Spinning to face him, turning away from the darkness of the nighttime streets with its curling lines of yellow headlights and red taillights, Ema wishes she hadn't already eaten all of her snackoos. Having something to do with her hands and something to do with her mouth would be very good right now, to keep her from getting into trouble. "Can I help you, Prosecutor Blackquill?"

"I do believe you can, Skye-dono." Blackquill clasps his hands together behind his back, circling her in what is _clearly_ a predatory fashion.

Ema forces herself to stay still, to draw deep breath after deep breath. Blackquill is just being his usual cagey self, using intimidation and manipulation to get his way just like prison taught him. It's _sad_ , really, that even after winning, even after saving Athena Cykes and clearing his name, he still bears these obvious tics and scars. It's not something to get upset over.

"The question is..." Blackquill comes to a halt in front of her. "Are you actually _willing_ to tell me what I want to know, or are you going to pretend not to know anything."

Her breath shudders on the inhale, a combination of fear and fury and agony that is hard to control, but Ema forces her mouth into a condescending smile. "Prosecutor Blackquill, I really don't know what—"

"How did you learn about the crime again, Detective Skye?" Blackquill leans forward as he asks the question, invading her personal space.

Running a tongue over her lips, Ema tries not to snarl or bite his nose. "As I've told several dozen people already, I happened to call Prosecutor DeBeste because of the case we're working together during the incident. He was up on the roof with his dog, which was unfortunately shot; he was attempting to get the dog to safety before reporting the incident."

There is an obvious drag line of blood from the western edge of the roof to the stairwell.

"Indeed." Blackquill's eyes move from the blood trail to Ema. "I hope it was a large dog. Otherwise I fear Prosecutor DeBeste may have to get another pet. Though there are several things troubling me about your story, Skye-dono."

"I don't—"

"The story holds up remarkably well to initial scrutiny. I dare say most people will readily accept it, and the evidence will undoubtedly support _most_ of the story." Simon moves closer, his voice pitched low. "But there are several anomalies. First off, Prosecutor DeBeste doesn't _have_ a dog. I know because he's been considering whether or not a bird would make a good pet, and bonding with Taka. But the more pressing concern is that it _wasn't_ Prosecutor DeBeste you called, it was Prosecutor Gavin."

Ema can feel her eyes widening, adrenaline dumping into her veins and making her heart-rate double as Blackquill pulls _her_ phone out of _his_ pocket.

"You left it on the railing in the stairwell after Edgeworth-sama's last communication, when the light almost collapsed out here." Blackquill holds the phone out to her, his smile razor-sharp. "A grave oversight, Skye-dono. I can assure you no one but me had access to it, though. Now, tell me. Why are you and Edgeworth and DeBeste hiding Gavin's involvement in this incident? Where _is_ he? Why isn't he answering his phone? What—"

Blackquill keeps speaking, but Ema can't make out the words. He had _no right_. If he saw something of hers that she accidentally set down—and she _shouldn't_ have, but she'd been so _furious_ and _relieved_ at the same time by Edgeworth's message, and some of the dumb recruits had just about _fried_ themselves with the floodlights... but he should have just _given it back to her_. To go through her personal information, to examine her call history, to _challenge_ her like this, as though looming over her could intimidate her into giving up her pack, giving up information—

If he pushes her, she will claw his eyes out. She will rip his throat open, damn his little samurai-finger-sword, before she will let him hurt her pack—before she will let him use _her_ to—

"Simon."

Ema manages to draw a full, shuddering breath for the first time in what seems like hours, her head whipping around to find the source of the voice.

An arm slides around her shoulders, warm, firm, _pack_ , and Ema sways on her feet as the pounding of blood in her temples abruptly ceases and pain that has come to seem like her constant companion over the last three hours fades away.

Athena studies Simon Blackquill with cool, unimpressed eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I believe we both agreed to use our proper titles when interacting professionally, Cykes-dono." Straightening, Simon Blackquill tilts his head slightly to the right as he studies the two of them. "And I could turn your question back on you. Why is a defense attorney at a crime scene when no one has been charged with a crime yet?"

"Who says I'm here as a defense attorney?"

Blackquill crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking more exasperated than Ema thinks she's ever seen him.

"Okay!" Athena throws her free hand up in the air. "You've got me. I'm here as a defense attorney. I need to talk to Ema about a case that I'm working on."

Scowling, Blackquill raises both eyebrows. "Which case would that be?"

Athena smiles smugly up at the man. "Client confidentiality. You'll see in court. Or maybe not. You're not the prosecutor."

Simon's lips compress down into a thin line. "How were you able to get onto an active crime scene?"

"With me." Another familiar voice cuts through the quiet hubbub of forensics and detectives. "I happened to see her looking for Ms. Skye and thought we might kill two birds with one stone. Your report, Prosecutor Blackquill?"

For a moment Ema thinks that Simon is going to resist, his back straightening, his eyes flicking frantically from Athena to Edgeworth. Then he gathers his composure back around himself, inclining his head just slightly to Edgeworth. "Will you be taking over the case again, Chief Prosecutor?"

Edgeworth nods. "I will be. Ms. Skye, you are free to go to your meeting—I appreciate your taking the extra time to assist in this investigation. Ms. Cykes, if you would give me back the item that's in your keeping—"

Athena holds out a first aid kit to Edgeworth, glances at Simon, and pulls it back tight to her chest. "On second thought, Ema and I can take care of this, Chief Prosecutor."

Edgeworth's gaze moves to Ema, probing, assessing, and Ema forces a smile onto her face once more. At least the easing of the headache makes it more feasible than before. "We've got this, sir."

Nodding in slow assent, Edgeworth turns on one heel and walks toward the opposite side of the roof. "Prosecutor Blackquill, with me."

Blackquill hesitates just for a moment, his gaze staying fixed on Athena. "This isn't over, Cykes-dono. Skye-dono. I _know_ that something is going on. Something has been going on for several weeks now. That _something_ is now resulting in people shooting at prosecutors, and I will know what it is."

"Blackquill—" Frustration fills Athena's voice as she shakes her head.

She isn't given a chance to say more than that, though, Simon turning to stalk gracefully after Edgeworth, leaving Ema and Athena to their own devices.

Ema doesn't waste any time. Edgeworth was clearly saying it was all right for her to go see the rest of the werewolves now. It's possible that Athena knows more than Ema does, and Ema desperately wants that information, as soon as possible.

Athena doesn't resist being yanked into the building or down the stairs, though she pulls them to a halt on the ninth floor, dragging them into the unoccupied hallway and taking a step away from Ema so that they can stand face to face. For one terrified second Ema thinks that Athena is going to pull away completely, to stop touching her, and she finds her right hand reaching out to grasp frantically at Athena's.

Athena smiles, a far gentler expression than any that she had worn on the roof, and takes both of Ema's hands in hers, the first aid pack held tight to her side by her elbow. "Hey. How're you holding up?"

Ema takes a moment to consider her status and gives a brief snort. "Depends on what you mean. Also... depends on what's going on. Is he... Edgeworth said he's stable, but what does that..."

"When we left, he was in wolf form and looked pretty miserable, but he was completely coherent and seemed to be healing." Athena's thumbs rub gently against Ema's hands. "I think he's going to be just fine."

Ema moves her head up and down in a jerky nod, trying to remember how to breathe. Edgeworth had _said_ he was stable, said he was fine, and Ema had _believed_ him, but hearing someone from the _pack_ say it... her breath comes out ragged, harsh, and Ema realizes with horror that she's going to _cry_. "Stupid, idiotic, glimmerous... I thought... I felt..."

"I know." Athena's arms wrap around Ema's chest, pull her into a loose but deeply comforting embrace. "Or at least I felt it. I can't imagine having to be on the phone with DeBeste and organizing the response. You're incredible, Ema."

Shaking her head, Ema tries hard not to get snot on Athena's shoulder. "I just did what I had to do. And I know it's _silly_ , I know they were trying to keep the stupid fop alive, but when Sebastian hung up on me I thought—I was scared—and my stupid _head_ hurt so much—"

 _Everything_ had hurt so much, a steadily-increasing ache, but now it doesn't. Since Athena first touched her, Ema has felt... not quite _normal_ , because she still has a ridiculous urge to either go bite or nuzzle Klavier Gavin, but _better_. Taking a step back from Athena, Ema studies the other woman. "What did you do?"

"Huh?" Athena blinks.

"You... you did something. I _hurt_ , all that stupid almost-a-you-know-what thing, but now I... don't." Shoving hair back behind her ears, Ema tilts her head left and then right, but Athena still looks just like her normal self. "How?"

"I... don't know." Looking down at her hands, Athena frowns. "When I came out on the roof, I saw you talking to Simon—heard you both. Blackquill was being so _aggressive_ , and you were making this little noise every time you breathed like you were going to attack him... so I tried to stop it."

Thinking back on her confrontation with the Twisted Samurai, Ema winces. "I was probably about one wrong word away from trying to rip his throat out. Which wouldn't have helped anything and would likely have made things worse."

Athena runs a hand over her face. "Sometimes I wish Simon weren't so intelligent and observant. I keep telling him I'm fine, that there's nothing going on, but... well... he's not really buying it."

"Yeah, well..." Ema cracks an honest smile of her own. "It probably doesn't help that there really _is_ something going on. It's not paranoia if they really are keeping things from you."

Athena gives a rueful laugh. "It would probably help if Simon had some friends _other_ than me that he could focus on."

"He's working on that." Ema frees her left hand so that she can place it on her hip, though there is a part of her that is loathe to release Athena. "He was starting to become pretty decent friends with Gavin, and _everyone_ tries to adopt Sebastian. Unfortunately Gavin's not exactly a distraction from the problem, and Sebastian's been running in circles trying to figure out why Gavin's weird for the last three weeks."

Athena groans. "Yeah, none of that's very helpful."

"Speaking of helpful..." Mopping surreptitiously at her eyes, trying to pretend that she wasn't crying, Ema gestures at the first aid kit. "What're we supposed to be doing with that?"

"Oh." Athena glances left and right, clearly affirming again that they're alone. She still speaks in a soft whisper. "This has the bullet pieces from Klavier's leg. Is there someone in forensics that we can give it to...? Say that the vet sent them over?"

"The vet... right." Rubbing at her temples, Ema considers the problem. "We can't just shove a first aid kit that's clearly from the office at someone, but... let's go to the Chief Prosecutor's office. If I can get an evidence bag... just a plain bag... it'll be less obvious, at least. Then we ask Firefly to do the work, if I tell her to report directly to the Chief Prosecutor... yeah, we can do this."

"Awesome. Lead the way!" Athena keeps her fingers twined lightly with Ema's.

Since it's apparently keeping her from being in debilitating pain, Ema decides to allow it. Even having Athena here doesn't quite drive away _all_ of the almost-born wolf's needs. "When we're done... Edgeworth said..."

"When we're done, we're going back to the rest of the pack." Athena squeezes Ema's hand. "Everything else can wait until after that."

Ema should probably protest that. She should probably say that she feels much better now, and that she wants to help as much as possible.

Thinking about staying here indefinitely, the scent of Gavin's blood thick in her mouth and nose, causes Ema's throat to start constricting. Plus Edgeworth _said_ that she could go, and Edgeworth is one of the few people whose suggestions she usually follows.

She'll do her part, and then she and Athena will go see their pack, and they'll figure everything else out in the morning.

XXX

Hanging up the phone, Phoenix hugs it close to his chest.

Maya will be here in somewhere between three and four hours. It makes him feel somewhat better—having Maya to bounce ideas off of usually helps him make better choices.

It makes him more than a little terrified, because Maya is coming to try to keep the ghost of one of the most evil men Phoenix has had the displeasure of knowing from destroying everything.

The doorbell rings, and Phoenix dashes for the front entrance. It had been decided without much debate that he would answer the door for the werewolf doctor, since he's probably the least likely to attempt to tear the man's arm off simply for the crime of existing.

Which isn't _entirely_ fair—Apollo's clearly trying, very hard, to keep his protective instincts under control; Gumshoe is twitchy but no more than someone who's been put in charge of security should be; and Phoenix isn't sure that Sebastian knows _how_ to hurt someone. He's probably the least-threatening prosecutor Phoenix has ever had the pleasure of knowing.

The werewolf on the other side of the door is somewhere around Phoenix's own age, though he's wearing much more casual clothing than Phoenix is right now. Black slacks and a gray long-sleeved hoodie with the hood pushed back make him seem relaxed and casual, and he smiles at Phoenix, his glasses catching the light from inside the house. A black bag dangles from his left hand. "Mr. Wright."

"I know you." Phoenix frantically rifles through his memories of their meeting with the alphas and their selected pack-members. "Shae's beta, right? Navon...?"

"Navon Shae-pack." A slight smile tilts up the corner of Navon's mouth. "Or, if you were visiting my clinic, Dr. Navon Donaghue."

"Right." Phoenix nods. "So, doctor or veterinarian?"

"Veterinarian. Which means I can act as a doctor during a state of emergency." Navon arches up an eyebrow.

"I'd say this counts. Come on in." Phoenix steps aside, allowing Navon to enter. "Everyone's with the patient. They know that you're coming, but I'd recommend going slow and being careful. They're all... a little on edge."

"Understandable. I'll be cautious." Navon's mouth turns down in a tiny frown. "I'm very aware of how packs tend to react during stressful situations, especially newly-formed packs."

"Oh?" Phoenix tries to keep his tone inquisitive instead of accusatory. "Why would you know that?"

"The short answer is because Shae hasn't always been a very popular alpha." Navon shrugs. "The long answer would take more time than we have. Apollo Double-gifted, do I have your permission to enter?"

" _Double-gifted?_ " Apollo's disbelieving repetition of the words is obviously audible; no one else's response is. "You know what, it doesn't matter. Come in. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm here at your behest. I trust you not to break the laws of hospitality." Navon enters the bedroom slowly, in front of Phoenix, his eyes turned carefully to the side, away from where Apollo and Klavier and the others are huddled on the bed. "Now, let's see if there's anything more we can do to help your injured pack member."

XXX

Apollo tries not to glower _too_ hard at the new wolf who sidles into the room.

The man makes it relatively easy—Navon is his name, if Apollo is remembering him properly from the pseudo-trial that had been his and Klavier's introduction to the rest of the packs in the area. Navon doesn't bow his head in submission to Apollo, but he also does what Juniper usually does, turning his head and especially his eyes to a point on the wall next to Apollo so that there isn't the possibility of a challenge.

Not that Apollo is going to attack someone who's only here to help them. It won't do Klavier any _good_ , snarling at this man.

Klavier's tongue laps gently over Apollo's fingers where they are buried in Klavier's ruff, and Apollo forces himself to loosen his hold.

"Hey, Navon." Trucy waves at the man as though she's seen him every day for years, and not just once in a stressful situation. "Settle a debate for us. What's double-gifted mean?"

Navon's lips tilt up in a bemused smile. "It must have been a very brief and short debate."

Trucy grins. "Doesn't matter. We can have a fierce debate faster than most people can put on their underwear."

Navon's bemusement only seems to grow as he sets down his bag of tricks. "It's polite to refer to a wolf you're on good terms with but not pack with by use of an epithet. We tend to think more like that in wolf-form—alpha-friend, fierce-bite, sweet-smell, kind-tongue. For Shae, the epithet usually has something to do with how large our pack is and how strong an alpha she is. For me, it's usually something to do with my profession or my pack-rat collection of knowledge. Though I like to think I'm not an enemy of your pack, I know very little about you personally, and _double-gifted_ seemed a safe bet."

Sebastian frowns, one hand placed protectively on Klavier's flank. "That doesn't explain why you chose _that_."

"Doesn't it?" Navon opens his bag, pulling out a collection of bandage material, scissors, syringes, vials of medication, and other assorted doctor paraphernalia. "Your alpha is not _just_ blessed by the Lady; he carries another bloodline in his veins. One you seem to have very good control of, Apollo. I'm quite impressed."

Sebastian stays very still, his eyes fixed on Klavier's flank, a light frown tugging at his mouth.

Apollo tries to catch the prosecutor's gaze and fails. Hopefully Sebastian won't say anything compromising until Navon leaves. Turning back to Navon, he wills Sebastian to stay quiet. "You're certain I have another bloodline?"

Both Navon's eyebrows try to join his hairline. "Are you _not_?"

"Look, that's..." Running a hand back through his hair, Apollo shakes his head, watching Clay's flickering ghost stalk in circles around Navon. "Let's focus on first things first. What else can we do for Klavier?"

"You've already done the most important things." Navon holds out his hand, edging it closer and closer to Klavier's nose as he speaks. His eyes he keeps turned away from Klavier, too, though Apollo suspects if it came to a fight and a contest of wills Klavier and Navon would be on a similar level. "You've gathered the pack around him. He'll pull strength from them to heal. You've been getting him to eat. That's very good. The way he looks... well, it's very good you managed that. Someone gave you information?"

Apollo nods. "Agent Lang."

"Of course he did." Navon's smile grows. "Lang Long-tooth knows how important it is that your pack do well. I'm going to touch Prosecutor Gavin now, to see how the injury is healing. Is that acceptable to all of you?"

Klavier rolls his head back, staring up at Apollo and giving a deep sigh. Sebastian gives a brief, jerky nod, scowling at Navon as he does.

Only when Apollo gives his own quick nod does Navon move, gently peeling fur away from the bullet wound. He pokes and prods at the skin around the area, making considering noises as he does, his expression hard to read.

After an interminable period of time, Navon nods to himself and sits back on his heels. "I do want to wrap this, since it still hasn't scabbed over completely. What form do you want to be in, Prosecutor Gavin? Whichever you choose, I'm going to recommend you stay in it until the full moon."

Klavier rolls so that he's sitting up, his ears pinned back to his head. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and—

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Gumshoe grabs Klavier's still-canine head, holding him in place as the wolf lunges for the bullet hole, his teeth bared. "What just happened?"

Navon sighs, edging further away from the bed. "He attempted to transform, and the remaining silver taint interrupted him. To use rather unscientific but not inaccurate phrasing, silver doesn't like our kind. The energy that we use to do everything we do—to transform, to heal, to create pack-magic—is grounded out by silver. If there's a sufficient quantity of silver, which varies by the body weight of the individual and a few other factors, this grounding of energy will deplete their body's reserves and kill them. If there's an _in_ sufficient quantity, the body will slowly erode the silver, but in the meantime every attempt to harness that energy is painful."

Apollo has his arms wrapped around Klavier's neck while Gumshoe continues to hold the wolf's muzzle. "How do you _know_ all that? Is it—are you a born-wolf?"

Navon gives a thin smile, adjusting his glasses. "I know because I've done the experiments to learn. Mainly on myself; on my pack when I couldn't do the work alone. Our people had only a basic knowledge of how one of the most toxic elements for our kind did its damage. I fixed that."

"Right." Apollo buries his face in Klavier's fur for a moment, inhaling deeply. "He changed _into_ the wolf, though. He should be able to change back, right?"

"I've no doubt he'll be able to." Navon gestures at Apollo. "With the pack here, it should be simple enough to help him through the Change. Then I'll examine the wound once more, get him bandaged up, and give you any other information that I can."

"Uh..." Apollo can feel his face flushing hot as he tries to decide how to ask the question he needs to ask. It shouldn't be this _hard_.

"How do we do it?" Gumshoe's big hand plays with Klavier's ears. "How do we help him through it?"

"Ah. My apologies. I forget, sometimes—no matter." Navon frowns, his fingers drumming on the carpet in a syncopated beat for a moment. "Since the injury happened, you've wanted to be near him, yes? To be touching him?"

Apollo gives a slow nod, watching Gumshoe and Sebastian do the same.

"He's drawing energy from you. You can feel it, probably, if you meditate. To help him Change, you'll want to do something similar—feed him power, but with a _purpose_." Navon's eyes flick from Klavier to each of them in turn. "You're all familiar with his human form?"

Sebastian shivers, his face once more pale and drawn. "I would _very_ much like him to be human again."

Apollo gives another curt nod. "We all know him."

"Focus on Prosecutor Gavin's human form. How he looks, how he sounds, how he moves, how he talks." Navon's voice is soft, the words picking up a slow, almost hypnotic cadence. "Send him power to help him reach that. He wants to—he'll use the strength you lend to achieve his goal."

Closing his eyes, Apollo focuses on everything he knows about Klavier Gavin. On the way Klavier stands, easy and poised; on the way Klavier talks, carefully modulating his accent to get the desired effect from his audience; on the way Klavier's eyes keep careful track of everyone in the area. On the way Klavier _looks_ , the carefully-groomed performance that is his presentation to the world—to his fans, to the gallery at court, to the defense and the judge and anyone else he needs to talk around to his point of view.

"Come on, Klavier." Apollo traces a finger between the wolf's eyes, his own eyes closed to help him focus on the image he needs, the feel of Klavier's fur still rougher than it would normally be against his skin. "I need you back in fighting form, Prosecutor Gavin."

The wolf whines, a low note of distress, and Apollo feels a wave of exhaustion run through him. It isn't a _bad_ exhaustion, though—not the sickly exhaustion that clung to him during the investigation of Clay's death, the exhaustion of a battered body pushed to the edge of endurance. It's a _cleaner_ feeling than that, healthier, the exhaustion of a day that has been long and hectic but satisfactory, and the wolf's whine begins to change.

It takes longer than Klavier's transformations usually do. Though Apollo will still sometimes spend two, three minutes attempting to change from one form to another, especially during the new moon, Klavier always seems to slide easily into either skin, wearing both with equal comfort. Not now, though. Now his change is stuttering, awkward— _painful_ , and by the time he is human again he is panting, his hand pressed against his injured leg, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Klavier?" As soon as Klavier looks human, Sebastian is reaching for the prosecutor's face and shoulders, pressing Apollo awkwardly forward into Gumshoe. "Klavier, are you—"

" _Hallo..._ 'Bastian." Klavier opens his eyes, and they are bright and alert, though still shining with the light of the wolf's power. Klavier is _thin_ , slimmer than he was the last time he transformed, and his hair is a tangled mane around his head, but he looks... well, like himself. Ready to do what needs to be done, and Apollo wraps his arms around Klavier's neck, resisting the urge to squeeze as tightly as he can. Klavier needs to be able to breathe. "Remind me... never to do this... again, _ja_?"

"Klavier..." Sebastian's voice cracks, his breath hitching, and before Apollo quite knows what's happening the prosecutor has burst into tears.

"Ach, Herr Erste, none of that." Klavier forces himself into a vertical position, though he only _stays_ that way because Gumshoe and Apollo grab him. Pulling Sebastian into a tight embrace, Klavier rubs his head against the other man's cheek and shoulders. "I'm sorry, _mein Kamerad._ _Verzeihung_ , my friend. I didn't—"

Sebastian's hand rises, falls across Klavier's mouth, cutting him off. "Klavier, just—just... give me a minute. I'm not mad at you. I just..."

Klavier's eyes slide to Navon, still sitting politely in the center of the floor, not watching their pack. He tries to speak, and after a moment Sebastian moves his hand to allow it. "We have a lot to talk about, Sebastian. But I promise, everything will be all right."

Apollo just barely resists the urge to throw back his head and howl. He _agrees_ , though, the wolf prowling hot just beneath his skin, ready to fight along with Klavier to protect the less dominant wolves in their pack.

Navon clears his throat. "If you don't mind... I'll put a bandage on that injury. You can take it off tomorrow, when it's finished scabbing over—sooner if the bandage starts itching or feeling wrong in any way, but with the speed you're healing at tomorrow should be fine. While I'm doing that, I'll give you what information I can to help with your investigation. Shae's request, and my desire. Anyone who would use silver against us needs to be stopped."

"Right." Sebastian abruptly pulls away from Klavier and Apollo, straightening himself and his clothes with as much dignity as he can manage. "Probably best we get you dressed anyway, Prosecutor Gavin. Ms. Skye and Ms. Cykes will likely be back soon."

Oh. Right. Klavier's naked.

Apollo spends a moment worrying about the fact that this didn't register with him sooner, and then decides that in the grand scheme of things it's really not important. Better to help Gumshoe get Klavier standing, so they can move on to the things that _are_ important, like finding the real criminal before the three-day deadline created by the looming full moon and their pack's full transformation is up.

"Just like business as usual." Klavier grimaces, stretching his left leg out gingerly before holding it still so that Navon can clean and bandage it. "Eh, Herr Forehead?"

"I don't know." Apollo smirks up at the prosecutor. "You planning on accusing the wrong person of murder?"

Klavier's smile grows teeth. "Are you planning on defending whoever did this?"

"No." Apollo tucks his head against Klavier's chest, happy to feel Klavier's body heat against him—happier than he imagined he could be to hear Klavier _talking_. "So, yeah, guess that makes this business as usual."

Sebastian is watching them through narrowed eyes. "The two of you have a _very_ strange relationship, don't you?"

Back on his perch on the dresser, Clay laughs. "Nah. It's par for the course for Apollo, trust me."

Sebastian doesn't _quite_ hear Clay, Apollo doesn't think, but both he and Gumshoe do twitch, their heads moving slightly toward the sound.

The euphoria dies down as Apollo watches the two almost-wolves—the almost-pack that has helped him and Klavier survive this. Is this going to hurt them, having so much... _wolf_ stuff happening around them prior to their first Change? Or—

"It will be fine, _sternchen_." Klavier's nose buries itself in Apollo's hair. "We won't let it be otherwise."

Apollo nods, holding Klavier steady while Navon works, and hopes that Klavier is right.

XXX

"Eat. Your body has used a great many resources surviving this." Navon has retreated back to his seat in the center of the floor while Klavier dresses in borrowed clothes from Edgeworth's closet.

They're really going to have to start leaving clothing everywhere they might need it. In the office; in the Chief Prosecutor's house; probably at the Wright Anything Agency... it would make things a lot less distracting, Klavier thinks, if they could always put their own clothes on after an emergency.

"Don't Change unless you absolutely have to. It's going to hurt like hell until the silver's all gone, and the moon-change is strong enough that it should help finish the process faster than you torturing yourself before then." Navon eyes shift so that he's watching a point just to the left of Apollo, not challenging but clearly directing his instructions at the alpha of their pack now. "And find out who did this, fast, before they set whatever plan they have in motion."

Before they manage to use Klavier and Sebastian against the rest of the pack, and Klavier pulls Sebastian tight against his side, relishing the feel and the _scent_ and—

Shivering, Klavier takes a mental step back from the silver lightning that is Gitarre, ready and waiting to come forward at the first sign of trouble. He would like to keep his human form right now, and he would like to return Prosecutor Edgeworth's clothes unharmed.

"There aren't many people who know about your pack." Navon settles cross-legged, his hands folded in the center of his lap. "The most likely culprit is someone from a local pack. You met all the local alphas before, at your... introduction. I swear to you on the Lady and the Moon and my pack that Shae and Shae's pack were not involved."

There is a gravity and sincerity to the words—a sense of _power_ to them—that makes Klavier want to believe them. Glancing at Apollo, he raises an eyebrow.

Apollo shrugs in response. "Lang seemed to think Shae was trustworthy. What can you tell us about the other alphas? Who's most likely to be responsible?"

"That depends on what they want." Navon spreads his fingers, his hands turned palm-up. "This is a time of change for everyone. You're seeing it in the human world, in this Dark Age of the Law and the Dawning of Justice that the papers keep talking about. And we're discussing it among the alphas. Some, such as Shae, think it's a sign we should be more open to the world about what we are. Others, such as Pot and his cronies, believe any change is anathema—believe it will see us all hunted down and slaughtered. And still others, most notably Colyte, are... well, they're fascinated by _you_ , Apollo Justice."

Apollo points at himself. " _Me?_ Why?"

"Because you're double-gifted." Navon leans forward, his whole body picking up a thrumming tension. "If I'm correct in my deductions—and I haven't met anyone who's studied this more than I have—you carry the Justice bloodline. That's a bloodline that's been lost for decades."

It's a bloodline that Trucy almost certainly carries, too, but Klavier keeps quiet about that, carefully avoiding glancing toward the room where Phoenix eventually convinced the girl to bed down. If these bloodlines make Apollo a target, they will have to keep Trucy's as secret as possible.

Apollo stares at Navon, clearly nonplussed. "Why does it matter if I've got this Justice bloodline?"

"No one's certain." Navon ducks his head. "There are some bloodlines that only seem to appear during crises and times of change—bloodlines that indicate the world is going to fundamentally rearrange itself. The Devil. The Tower. The World. But there are some that have just seemed to fade away over the centuries... or where pieces have been lost. The Prince of the Stars has been missing for thirty-some years now. Justice has been gone for longer. If they are reappearing... does it mean that the others will come, too? Does it mean we're moving _toward_ what the heavens want, or away?"

Burying his head in his hands, Apollo scrubs at his face. "So what you're saying is someone may be after me because I'm a werewolf, or they may be after me because they're afraid I'm some omen of doom?"

Navon inclines his head. "Also because Changing someone who already has a bloodline is... frowned upon. The results can be difficult to predict."

Apollo scowls, and Klavier decides it's best to break in before Apollo says something he'll regret. "There's another potential complicating factor. When I was... indisposed, I saw my brother. His ghost was attempting to do... something to me. Something unpleasant."

A low snarl rumbles out from Apollo, and his hand is suddenly locked around Klavier's arm, holding tight.

Navon actually meets Klavier's gaze for a moment, clearly startled. He turns his head to the right before their stare can become a competition, though, frowning. "That... huh. There are only a few bloodlines that can interact with the dead. The Hermit. The High Priestess. The Moon. But you're right, it does make it more complicated."

"Which is just what we need." Apollo sighs. "It sounds like this Pot and his people are the first place we should look, though?"

Navon hesitates before giving a tiny nod. "It would be a good place to start. But keep your eyes and your minds open."

"Perhaps..." Sebastian clears his throat when everyone turns to look at him, his head ducking down as he presses closer to Klavier's side. "Perhaps you could leave us a list with contact information and a summation of each alpha's political affiliations?"

"If you'd like." Navon glances at Apollo for confirmation, and when Apollo nods he rises swiftly to his feet and begins rummaging about in his medical bag for a paper and pen.

Klavier pays careful attention as Navon goes through a verbal synopsis of the information he is writing down, keeping Sebastian held tight to him on his right side. Apollo stays close on his left, frowning in concentration as he takes in the information, and Gumshoe is a comforting weight behind Klavier's back, the detective occasionally asking for clarification or steering Navon gently back to the discussion at hand when he gets distracted.

Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, but there is a sense of purpose and drive in the energy that surrounds their pack, and Klavier finds himself smiling, looking forward to the hunt that is to come.

XXX

Navon leaves after an hour, with a final admonishment for Klavier to rest and stay close to the pack and not tax his healing body more than necessary.

Sebastian doesn't think there's much danger of Klavier separating from the pack. Everyone is very... _physical_ with each other, Gumshoe and Apollo and Klavier in near-constant contact.

Sebastian isn't much better, though, feeling... _wholer_ , somehow, when he is touching Klavier. Between that and the way Navon looks at him and the way everyone in the room has been referred to for the duration of the conversation... Sebastian may not be the smartest person in any given group, but he's pretty sure he knows what discussion the pack needs to have as soon as Navon's gone, and he's fairly certain he's not going to like it.

Once the front door has closed behind Navon—a solid _click-thunk_ that Sebastian can hear, despite how far away they are—everyone relaxes. Gumshoe even sighs, a toe's-deep exhalation that causes Klavier's fine blond hair to blow around his head.

Klavier reaches back to pat the detective on the side. "Agreed, _mein Freund_. Very much agreed."

"So." Apollo separates himself from Klavier with obvious difficulty, crossing the handful of steps to the room's door and turning so that he faces them. His arms cross in front of his chest, his eyes seeming to skewer Sebastian. Drawing a deep breath, he squares his shoulders. "We should—"

"Arrange our sleeping area." Klavier gestures back towards the bed. "Because we will not all fit there, and I suspect we would all like to stay together, _ja_? Plus our lovely _frauleins_ when they return. I was thinking some mattresses dragged into the living room, blankets draped across them...?"

"I, uh..." Apollo's face flushes, and his right hand rises to rub at the back of his neck. "That... actually sounds pretty appealing. What do you think, Gumshoe?"

"You got it, pal." Giving a grin and a thumb's up to Apollo, Gumshoe turns to the bed and lifts the mattress off. Balancing it on its side, he begins shoving it toward the door.

"If the two of you don't mind..." Klavier gestures down at his leg, but his eyes flick to Sebastian and his accent is thicker when he continues. "I will stay here with Sebastian, to spare my leg and to... explain some things that need explaining."

Apollo hesitates, having to stand on tip-toe to look over the mattress that Gumshoe is trundling toward him. "You're sure, Klavier? I could stay and help explain..."

" _Nein, mein Alpha_." Klavier speaks quietly but clearly, his eyes still fixed disquietingly on Sebastian where Sebastian is standing at his side. "This was my mistake. If the only thing I can do to attempt to make amends is give information, as Ms. Woods did, then that is what I would like to do."

Ms. Woods. Juniper Woods? Sebastian heard a great deal about her during the Constance Courte murder trial. That had not been a good time for Klavier. And of course Juniper Woods was involved in the Phantom affair, but from the way Klavier is talking...

"Juniper Woods is a _werewolf_?" Sebastian's voice is higher-pitched than he intended.

Klavier smiles, a proud expression as he pats Sebastian on the shoulder. "Very good deduction, Herr Erste. Ms. Woods is indeed a werewolf."

"And..." Sebastian swallows, the words trying to stick in his throat. Which is really very _silly_ , because he's seen a great deal today that proves werewolves are indeed real, but his head seems to be pounding and his joints feel kind of funny and actually _saying_ it is still hard. " _I'm_... going to be a werewolf?"

Klavier reaches out again, and this time his hands stay on Sebastian's shoulders. " _Ja_. I am so sorry, Sebastian. It was not my intention—I didn't mean—"

Klavier's words hitch, tripping over each other before trailing off into silence.

It feels... _better_ , with Klavier's hands on his shoulders. It feels less like the world is tilting under his feet; less like the artificial lights are attempting to stab their way through his retinas so that they can tap-dance in his skull. Stepping forward, Sebastian wraps his arms around Klavier and buries his face against Klavier's shoulder, inhaling Klavier's familiar scent.

"It's all right." Klavier's hand strokes over his hair, the singer's voice crooning upwards. "I swear, it will be all right. It will sometimes even be _glorious_ , though these first few days will likely be miserable. But I will be here. I will explain, and I will protect you, and—"

"Klavier!" Sebastian's voice cracks on the name, but he can recognize the half-panicked cadence to Klavier's patter of words. "Please. Just... let's be quiet for a moment. And maybe... maybe sit down."

It's more an unsteady collapse to the ground on Sebastian's part, his legs no longer wanting to put up with supporting him. Klavier makes sure it's at least a semi-graceful collapse, and Sebastian is grateful to have Klavier's hands supporting him, Klavier's body so close to his... and also concerned about what that is going to mean in the future.

Once they are on the ground, Klavier settles next to Sebastian, his left hand resting lightly on Sebastian's arm, his left leg—his _injured_ leg, and Sebastian makes a frantic mental note not to shift quickly—resting alongside Sebastian's.

Klavier is patient, giving Sebastian time to catch his breath and his mental equilibrium. He doesn't say anything, though Sebastian can tell by his tense restlessness that Klavier would love nothing more than to continue babbling information until he has said enough to assuage the guilt shining bright in his eyes.

"All right." Taking Klavier's hand in his, Sebastian sits up as straight as he can manage. "First things first—I'm not blaming you for biting me. You were... you were kind of a mess, and I'm just... super glad that you're not... you know... dead. Or a wolf. A permanent wolf. Not that you weren't a nice-looking and very nice wolf, but I like being able to talk to you. And oh, dear, this is going to be a very complicated conversation."

Klavier smiles, leaning towards and then abruptly away from Sebastian, though their fingers stay tightly linked. "Not so complicated as you might think. You will become a werewolf on the full moon, along with Ms. Skye and Ms. Cykes and our good Detective Gumshoe. It is a... less than ideal situation. Normally new wolves are bitten so that they have at least three weeks to acclimate; you will have three days. Since I managed surviving a transformation with approximately eight hours to acclimate, and you are at least as resilient and stubborn as me, I am certain we can pull you through. But you will likely be sore—have headaches, joint pain... possibly flashbacks, depression, anxiety, disordered thinking. Do not worry about it, though. It will pass when the transformation is complete, and _being_ a wolf..."

There is a half-feral, half-fond glint in Klavier's eyes as he draws a deep breath in through his nose.

Sebastian licks at his lips. "That's why you've been... different, these last few weeks? Because you've been a... werewolf?"

" _Ja_." Klavier nods. "It is amazing and strange in almost equal measures. Apollo was bitten, accidentally, by Ms. Woods during the courtroom explosion; he bit me the day of the full moon, while not understanding what was happening. He is the alpha of the pack that you will be very welcome to join, though if you wish to form your own pack..."

Sebastian finds himself pulling Klavier closer to him, his fist rising so that their joined hands lies in front of Sebastian's heart. "I want to be in your pack."

Klavier actually _whimpers_ , though it seems more a sound of excitement and eagerness than one of distress. "Nothing would make me happier than us sharing a pack, Herr Erste. I just want you to know your options. There are very few rules to being a werewolf. The first rule is that you must not Change other people into werewolves without the permission of the other local packs."

Sebastian chews on his bottom lip for a moment. "Which is why you might be in trouble? For biting me?"

"Slightly more complicated than that, but _ja_ , that is the gist of it." Klavier nods. "The second rule is to not tell other people about the packs, not unless they are planning on becoming werewolves themselves. That is why I could not tell you and Kay—not because I didn't want to, but because there had already been trouble enough between Apollo and I and the local packs."

"But now that I'm a werewolf, it's all right for me to know."

Klavier squeezes Sebastian's hand. "It's _necessary_ for you to know. And it is the right thing to do, and I think that both of us learned long ago to do what is right over what is easy or what others would have us do. The last rule is that there must be three wolves in a pack."

"So..." Sebastian sits up straighter, his whole body coming to attention as possibilities start to unfurl. "In theory, if you and I and Gumshoe—and we could even invite Kay—"

Klavier leans back, shaking his head. "No. Apollo is my alpha. He and I... we are a good balance for each other, both as wolves and as legal professionals. I do not wish to change packs."

"He's a _defense attorney_." Sebastian can feel his face heat as soon as the words are blurted out. Of course Klavier knows that Justice is a defense attorney. "Is that... what does it _mean_ , being your alpha? Can you even prosecute a case against him?"

"I can and I will, if there is a suspect I deem guilty that he wishes to defend." Steel enters Klavier's voice, his eyes hardening, the blue darkening with determination and drive. "You have seen what it means for him to be my pack—for him to be my alpha. It is an arrangement we are both... content with."

Running a hand up through his hair, Sebastian shakes his head. "I just... _I_ don't know him very well, and him being _my_ alpha..."

Klavier's arms wrap around Sebastian, hold him tight, and it is _ridiculous_ how easy it is to melt into Klavier's embrace, to just inhale Klavier's scent and let it drive away some of the pain that had been trying to crest again. Shivers that Sebastian hadn't even noticed starting finally stop.

"You are my pack, Sebastian." Klavier's nose nuzzles into the skin of Sebastian's neck—at the same spot where he bit Sebastian, his breath warm and hot. "I won't let anyone hurt you or use you for ill ends. You can trust me to do that, _ja_?"

"I..." Sebastian blinks, frowning, trying to sort his feelings into words. "I think you'll _try_. And I think... for now... that's all I need."

Klavier separates them, holding Sebastian at arm's length with what is clearly an effort of will. "You're sure? You're certain you can—"

Laying a finger across Klavier's mouth, Sebastian shakes his head. "We both know what it is to be used. Someone used you to hurt me to get at your pack. I'm not going to give the bastards the _satisfaction_ of fearing or mistrusting you. You're my friend, Klavier Gavin. And at least for the moment... it sounds like you're going to be my... my pack-mate."

Klavier grins—an honest grin, not his stage-smile but a brighter, more energetic expression. "This is going to be a glorious full moon, Sebastian."

"I hope so." Resting his head against Klavier's shoulder again, Sebastian allows the contact to comfort him, trying not to wonder if he would have enjoyed this so much twelve hours ago.

"Come on, Herr Erste." Clambering to his feet with a minimum of difficulty, Klavier draws Sebastian up next to him. "Let's rest. It's late, and tomorrow will be a big day."

Sebastian allows himself to be led by an arm around his shoulder to where Gumshoe, Apollo, and Phoenix have constructed a mess of mattresses and blankets into a very functional sleeping pallet. Curling up with Klavier on one side and Gumshoe on the other—with Apollo a tense ball of fiery energy on the other side of Klavier—Sebastian allows exhaustion to rise and drag him under into sleep.

Maybe when he wakes the world will make sense again.

Even if it doesn't... well, he has Edgeworth and Klavier and Gumshoe and Ema to help him make sense of it, and since that list includes almost all of the people Sebastian would trust with his life, it will most probably turn out all right.

XXX

Ema and Athena tip-toe into the foyer of Edgeworth's house. It's not something that they discuss before doing it—it's just something that feels _right_ , being quiet and respectful when entering the Chief Prosecutor's territory.

 _Territory_. Ema draws in a shallow breath, savoring the scents of her pack and of Edgeworth and of cooked meat that roll across her tongue. She will have to make a note about how easily the word _territory_ rises to her tongue, try to suss out if this is because of the burgeoning wolf sliding in lightning sparks through her blood or because of law-enforcement territoriality.

They trip over Phoenix Wright before they've gone more than a dozen steps. He has apparently decided that sleeping sprawled across the hallway is a valid method of guarding the house, and though Athena skips easily over his legs, Ema's tired body doesn't quite manage the jump and she ends up on the ground in a sprawl of limbs.

"Huh? Who? Wha—" Mr. Wright blinks as he finishes disentangling himself from Ema. "Oh. Welcome back. There's a bunch of werewolves sleeping in the living room."

Athena helps Ema back to her feet, every touch of the other woman's hands seeming to ease tension out of Ema's body in a way that is glorious and completely unfair. Why does everyone other than Ema seem to have an extra special gift aside from being a werewolf?

Well, that's not _entirely_ fair. Not unless getting into trouble counts as an extra-special gift for Klavier. And Ema is _way_ too tired, if she's letting herself get distracted by these thoughts.

Athena takes Ema's hand in a firm grip, smiling at Mr. Wright. "Since _we're_ a bunch of werewolves, or at least werewolves-to-be, that shouldn't be a problem."

"No." Mr. Wright yawns. "I suppose it wouldn't be. Mainly I want to warn Edgeworth when he gets back, so his eyebrow doesn't do that little twitchy thing when he walks in and sees it."

Ema can't quite resist a little snort of laughter. "If Mr. Edgeworth sees you sleeping on the floor, he'll probably just walk over you and keep going."

Mr. Wright opens his mouth, sighs, and gives a rueful little smile as he brushes a hand over his hair. "Probably. I'm also waiting for Maya. She and Pearls are going to come help us with this little spirit problem we're having."

Ema frowns. "A problem with Clay?"

Athena winces. "Uh... no, probably with the _other_ ghost. Kristoph Gavin's ghost showed up to try to help kill Klavier, apparently."

Turning towards the living room, Ema takes a half-step forward before being drawn up short by Athena's hand. Sucking in a slow breath that rumbles out as a growl, Ema gives her body a shake. "It never rains but it pours."

" _Verdad_." Athena's fingers squeeze around Ema's. "Do you need us, boss?"

"No." Yawning again, Mr. Wright shakes his head and waves them in the direction of the living room. "Go on, go do your wolf-things. I'll stay awake and let everyone else know what's going on."

"Despite evidence to the contrary..." Ema's eyes drop to the floor where Phoenix had been napping. "I'm going to trust you on that. Thanks, Mr. Wright."

They don't waste any more time, prowling forward into the quiet twilight of the house.

There aren't any lights on past the foyer, but that's all right. Despite having only been in the Chief Prosecutor's house a handful of times—mostly for cases, though he also brought her home when she burst into furious tears of outrage after having to work with Gaspen Payne as her first prosecutor—Ema finds her way unerringly to where the others are sleeping.

They're in a tangled mess, though everyone is at least fully clothed and mostly covered in blankets and sheets. Ema pauses at the edge of the mattress island that has been crafted, clinging tightly to Athena's hand and drawing in deep breaths that don't quite seem to fill her lungs. The faintest tinge of blood-scent still hangs in the air, but that's it, and Ema has to lean against Athena for a moment, her eyes burning and her legs feeling too weak.

A hand emerges from near the center of the curled mass, and Ema catches a flash of blond hair as moonlight breaks through the window, a hint of blue eyes. "Fraulein Detective?"

Letting go of Athena's hand, Ema takes Klavier's instead, relieved to find that the headache and joint pain stay just at the very edge of her awareness instead of surging forward to consume everything. "Glimmerous grand-stander."

"If one is to take a stand, surely it should be grand." Klavier tugs, and Ema finds herself dropping to her knees and crawling forward into the warm knot of werewolves that smells like _home_.

"Detective Skye?" Sebastian's voice is tense, though his words are sleep-slurred—his voice is _pained_ , Ema realizes after a moment, and she turns to gesture sharply at Athena.

She doesn't need to worry, though. Athena is already moving, brushing her fingers across Sebastian's forehead as his head, too, emerges from the pack huddle. A sigh deeper than the Marianas Trench pulls itself out of Sebastian's body, though he pulls away from Athena as his eyes focus.

"Don't worry." Slipping in on the other side of Sebastian from Klavier, Ema strokes her hands across his shoulders, pressing her own slightly-aching head to his. "Athena can make it stop hurting for a little bit, so we can all get some sleep."

"Really?" Apollo's voice is gruff, and Ema suspects if she could see him clearly in the gloom his eyes would be shimmering with the wolf's energy. "You can help make the Change less painful, 'Thena?"

"Apparently. Though don't ask me how." Athena curls across the front of the pack-pile, claiming a blanket to drape across her body and a pillow to prop her head on. Her left hand strokes across Sebastian's head, then across Ema's, then across Sebastian's again as Ema claims her own blanket. "But maybe... it'll make things better?"

Apollo gives a brief grunt. "Well, it certainly shouldn't make things worse. Welcome back, guys. Now let's get some sleep so we can start investigating tomorrow."

It isn't a command—Apollo knows better than to give commands to any of them aside from Gumshoe. But it's a _strong_ suggestion, laced with Apollo's desire for the pack to be safe, and it fits with what Ema's own body wants. Before she has time to protest she is yawning, her body curling protectively against Sebastian's.

She half expects Sebastian to protest. Sebastian isn't one for physicality, she knows, though for certain people—for Klavier, for Edgeworth, for the thief-turned-investigator that is their friend—he makes an exception.

Apparently he also makes an exception for pack—or almost-pack, though the events of the last hours have driven everyone far closer to their wolves than they had been before—because he settles down, his head pillowed on Klavier's shoulder, and holds her arm where it is draped across him. Within two minutes he is sleeping soundly, his breath a steady, even rhythm.

Within another sixty seconds Ema has followed him down into tired oblivion, somehow feeling safer and more secure sleeping with the pack than she has for the last two weeks.

She's going to have a lot to write in her notebook tomorrow, the part of her that has been meticulously documenting their transformation whispers.

But that can definitely wait for _tomorrow_ , because for tonight, everyone just needs to revel in the fact that they're all alive.


	7. Chapter 7: Reconnaissance

_**Chapter Seven: Reconnaissance**_

Edgeworth comes home about forty-five minutes after the young women, looking both haggard and annoyed.

Phoenix winces, studying his old friend's face. "Things didn't go well?"

"Blackquill is the most annoying, stubborn, frustrating—" Sighing, Miles crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Well, if we exclude present company, at least."

"Hey!" Phoenix reaches out, brushing his fist lightly against Edgeworth's shoulder. "How many people do you know that you would trust to watch a werewolf pack in your house?"

"Precious few who aren't part of said werewolf pack." Edgeworth's arms drop to his side. "Is everyone all right?"

"Seems to be. They're all sleeping, which sounds like an absolutely _glorious_ idea." Phoenix jerks his thumb towards the living room. "They're all sleeping together in some kind of strange werewolf healing huddle, but hey. Any kind of sleep is good."

"It does sound lovely." Edgeworth's eyes narrow and his brow furrows as he looks towards the living room, too. "Is Sebastian—Prosecutor Debeste—"

"They're _all_ fine, Miles." Phoenix speaks gently but with assurance. "Though Sebastian has been a bit weepy and a bit... _wincy_ this evening, he's also been glued to Prosecutor Gavin's side and seeming surprisingly okay with the situation he's found himself in. Go on, off to bed with you. I'm guessing you have to go wrangle psychotic samurai in the morning?"

"He's not psychotic, he's just bloody damned _perceptive_." Miles rubs a hand across the back of his neck, massaging tight muscles. "He knows that Gavin was the one who got shot. At the moment I have him convinced that we're keeping the details secret in order to protect Gavin—which isn't _untrue—_ but it's going to put us in a very precarious position moving forward."

"Something we can worry about tomorrow." Clapping Edgeworth on the shoulder, Phoenix steers him toward the master bedroom. "Go on. Go sleep."

"And you?" Edgeworth plants his feet and looks back over his shoulder at Phoenix, one eyebrow raised. "Going to continue as the semi-conscious doorstop?"

"That is unfair! You didn't trip over me at all!" Phoenix just barely resists sticking his tongue out at his old friend. He can be mature when it's necessary. "And I can't go to bed. Maya's going to be here to add some spirit-medium shenanigans to the rest of the shenanigans."

Miles actually _groans_ , a soft sound of pure frustration. "Are you certain my house will still be standing when you're done?"

"Pretty sure. Though I can't guarantee _where_ it'll be standing." Adopting his best Dorothy voice, Phoenix gives Edgeworth a wide-eyed stare. "There are lots of Kansases out there, Toto. So many, many Kansases."

"I am not a small dog, Wright." The ghost of a smile touches Edgeworth's mouth as he turns toward his bedroom, though he stops after just a few steps to look back at Phoenix one more time. "You're sure Ms. Fey will be all right staying here given the werewolf... I cannot in good conscience call them an _infestation_ , but..."

"We'll figure it out." Phoenix waves off the concern, and Miles must really be at the edge of his endurance, because he accepts the vague reassurance and heads off to bed without any more protests.

(He _does_ stop to peek into the darkened living room, though given that his eyes are worse than Phoenix's, Phoenix suspects he doesn't see anything more than an amorphous mass in the center of the living room that occasionally emits little sounds of joy and contentment.)

Returning to his vigil at the front door, Phoenix tries to think of ways to keep himself awake. A game on his phone? It works well for about ten minutes, before the glare of the screen starts giving him a headache and his fingers fumble the goal one too many times for it to be fun. Trying to figure out what they're going to do tomorrow? A good way to give himself an ulcer, but not actually causing any brilliant ideas to pop into his head.

"Why is my life like this, Mia?" Phoenix whispers the words to the seemingly-empty air. He doesn't actually know if Mia's with him, and without waking a werewolf he has no way to tell. For all he knows _Clay_ is sitting in a corner listening to him gripe, though Phoenix suspects Clay is glued to the werewolves for the foreseeable future. "Did I do something? Tick off some ancient deity? Walk under too many ladders? Do ladders and step-ladders count for the same amount of bad luck? Not that I don't appreciate all that you've done to help me out—"

A yawn splits Phoenix's sentence, and he spends a moment covering it, rubbing at tired, gritty eyes as he does. "I'm... just moping, I guess. Which isn't really fair. It's not like _I've_ become an accidental werewolf or anything. Or gotten shot. Haven't even been any heights recently. But seeing awful things happen to Apollo... not being able to do anything about it..."

Phoenix's eyes have drifted closed without his meaning to, and try as he might he can't seem to force them open again. Did someone put glue on his eyelids when he wasn't looking?

An icy breeze seems to wend its way through his hair, and Phoenix could swear he hears something that sounds almost like _smile_.

A smile pulls up the edges of his mouth. When things get tough, that's when you have to smile the hardest. It was one of Mia's first lessons to him, and it's one that's served Phoenix well despite how hard it can be to pull off in practice.

Keep smiling. Keep hope alive.

Only when there's no hope left is everything really lost, and Phoenix is going to make sure none of the people he's responsible for ever get to that point, no matter what the cost.

XXX

" _Niiiiiick!_ "

Phoenix jumps about four feet vertically into the air, coming down hard on his right elbow's funny bone.

Maya leans back, covering a giggle with her hand. She's in her full Master of Kurain outfit, her long flowing robes and white stole. She looks fantastic—mature and intelligent and competent, even as she giggles maniacally at having surprised him when he was _sleeping_.

"Mr. Nick." Pearls stands behind and to the right of Maya, shaking her head. "You shouldn't sleep in a hallway! It's very bad for your health."

"So's living. Pretty much everything you do while alive is going to make sure you end up dead." Rubbing at his sore elbow, Phoenix gingerly flexes it out. "Though I'm _resting_ here with a very important purpose—greeting the two of you. Not that you're likely in any danger—most of the werewolves know you—but still, best to make sure no one accidentally wanders into the midst of the nervous werewolf pack."

Holding out a hand, Maya helps him climb to his feet, dusting him off as she does. The light from outside illuminates the foyer, but the rest of the house is lost in shadows—shadows that both Kurain girls peer into with avid interest.

"I've never gotten to meet one of the Moon people." Pearls has what looks to be a small ceremonial bag held tight in both hands, some of the intricate curves of Kurain writing picked out in black thread on the soft purple cloth. "I'm so excited!"

"Don't get _too_ excited." Phoenix puts an arm around the young woman's shoulders, giving her a half-hug as he glances in the direction of the living room. "Like I said, they're mostly people you already know. Apollo's their alpha; Klavier's currently his beta. Athena, Ema, Detective Gumshoe, and Prosecutor Debeste are going to become werewolves at this next full moon."

"Prosecutor Debeste?" Pearls frowns, raising the bag so she can place a finger to her bottom lip. "That's not... the funny little prosecutor who cries a lot? The one that watched Trucy and me, and Trucy said we should give him a magic show, and during the show she made us both disappear and we snuck out and—"

"Yep, that would be the one." Phoenix sighs, patting Pearls on the head. "I'm impressed how well you remember that story."

Maya arches one eyebrow, putting a hand on her hip. "I'm impressed how much I _don't_ remember that story. And I think I would. I tend to remember tales of Trucy torturing poor Edgeworth's people."

"I, uh..." Phoenix gives a nervous smile. He had decided, once the children were re-captured unharmed, that there was no need to tell Maya about Pearls' adventures. It had been Trucy's idea, after all, and a stern talking-to from Edgeworth as well as Sebastian's near-hysterical tears when the kids were finally returned to him in one piece had been enough to make her agree not to do something like that again. "It must just have slipped your mind. The trouble with both of us getting old."

Maya opens her mouth to protest, but Pearls beats her to it. "You're not old, Mr. Nick! I mean, you _are_ older than Mystic Maya, who's still in the springtime of her maidenhood, but—"

"Pearl." Maya pats her cousin on the head. "That's enough, I think."

"Okay." Pearl smiles up at the older spirit medium, and Phoenix is glad, once more, to see the bonds that hold the two young women close. It would have been so easy for Maya to let Morgan's manipulations push her away from Pearls—to blame Pearl for some or all of what happened. Instead Maya had made the girl into her younger sister, her heir apparent, daring her older aunts to question the move.

"So, Nick." Maya nods meaningfully toward the rest of the house. "Do you need immediate ghost-busting services, or do you want us to find somewhere not covered in new werewolves and wait until morning?"

"Does it matter whether it's morning or night for... whatever you've got to do?" Phoenix waves a hand in vaguely spooky fashion.

Maya shakes her head, her lips twitching as she catches and stills his hand. "Nope. I can spirit medium at any time. I take it the ghost hasn't been causing too much trouble since we talked?"

"Since before we talked, actually." Phoenix shrugs. "We know we've got at least two nice spirits hanging around—Mia, of course, and Clay Terran's apparently been beneficently haunting Apollo since he died."

Pearl's eyes widen slightly, and he can see her mouthing the word _beneficently_ under her breath. Sometimes playing Scrabble with Miles and Franziska is _almost_ worth it. Sometimes.

"You don't just need us to play spirit medium for Mia and Clay, though." Maya tilts her head to the right. "Especially not with so many Moon people around. You said there was a ghost that almost managed to kill Klavier...?"

"Klavier was shot with a silver bullet. It almost killed him. Especially because there was a ghost there drawing some kind of creepy symbols on him in black smoke that Clay describes as _cold_ and _gross_ and _bad_." Clay had been slightly more eloquent when pressed, but Phoenix feels he's captured the general gist of the information in a much more condensed form. "He said there's something big going down. Between that and Mia saying that it was high time I told you—"

"Which it _is_." A frisson of legitimate hurt flickers across Maya's face. "I can't believe you kept this from me for a _month_ , Nick."

"Werewolves are a secret?" The excuse sounds weak even to his own ears.

Maya crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Did someone really not tell you about the bloodlines? And you—clever, turn-about thinking you— _really_ didn't figure out who the High Priestess bloodline belongs to?"

"I, uh... it's been a really stressful month, all right?" And he is far too good at hiding things, still, as Apollo would be quick to point out. He still plays all his cards close to his chest by habit, by _instinct_ , and once it seemed that he had everything under control...

Maya reaches out, taking his right hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze as she offers him a lopsided, sad little smile.

Maya understands, of course. She and Miles were there for him through everything, and she's not necessarily _angry_ about what he did, just frustrated and wanting to make sure he understands how painful the gesture could seem if misinterpreted.

Putting his arms around Maya's shoulder, Phoenix hugs the young woman tight. Sometimes he thinks he doesn't deserve the friendship she offers. "Thank you. For coming."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Maya pats him on the back, her grip firm and comforting, before gently disentangling herself from the hug. "Now, tell me what this ghost's name is so we can go about summoning him and getting some answers."

"It was Kristoph Gavin."

Silence follows the statement, a few seconds during which Maya's eyes widen and her lips press tightly together into a furious scowl. Pearls reaches out, laying a hand on Maya's arm as she bites down on her bottom lip.

"Yeah." Phoenix smiles, though the expression tugs at his mouth uncomfortably. "Which is why I'd really rather you _didn't_ channel him."

"But Nick..." Maya trails off, frowning down at the floor between them. "If he knows what's going on, and we can get some answers—"

Phoenix shakes his head. "Do you really think we'd be able to get any straight answers from _him_? He'll just smile and say something cryptic or flat-out lie and I—I really, really don't want _him_ having any access to one of my friends."

The idea of Kristoph possessing Maya or Pearls is enough to cause Phoenix's face to turn cold even as his chest burns hot with fury and a long-simmering, focused hatred. That's one thing Kristoph managed, at least. For all the despicable, awful people Phoenix has met over the years and hated in one form or another—and he has _loathed_ Von Karma, when he sees the still-lingering signs of abuse that mar Miles; he has _hated_ Damon Gant, with a flaring, fiery passion that was equaled only by his self-loathing when Miles left his note and disappeared; he has _despised_ Zac and Magnifi Gramarye, for what they did to Trucy—Kristoph is the one that he hates the most.

Well... Kristoph or Dahlia. It's probably still a toss-up between those two.

Maya bites down on her bottom lip, frowning at the floor again. "If you don't want us to call Kristoph... what were you hoping we could do?"

Phoenix shrugs. "I don't know. Mia said to call you, so I did. Is there anything you can do... some kind of protection against ghosts that you can give them?"

Maya and Pearls share a look before they nod. Maya's voice is quiet when she answers. "There are things we can make for everyone to carry that should help repel spirits. But if we do that... Nick, you said that Clay and Mia, at least, are still following you guys. And there are other people who've died... Edgeworth's dad, Athena's mom..."

Closing his eyes, Phoenix tries to imagine Apollo's face if he told the young man to carry something that would protect him but keep Clay away. He's not sure if Apollo would cry or punch him—a situation he's been in far too often for the last two months with regards to Apollo.

Pearls' hand pats gently at Phoenix's arm. "You look really tired, Mr. Nick. Why don't you go sleep for a little bit? Mystic Maya and I can make some charms before we go to bed."

Maya nods. "We can talk it over with everyone in the morning. If the consensus is we try to channel Kristoph and get some information, that's what we do; if the consensus is to wait... Pearls and I will at least be on hand to help if need be. And the Master of Kurain does have a _little_ bit of political clout with the People of the Moon, though not so much I want to throw my weight around lightly."

"Sounds like a plan." Phoenix sighs. "Let's see if we can find a room the werewolves _didn't_ raid of mattresses and blankets to make their nest, and then we can see how everything looks in the morning."

Klavier and the rest of the werewolves should be safe enough overnight, after all. They've got enough werewolves and soon-to-be-werewolves around them to provide protection. They've got Clay and Mia. If something _does_ happen, they'll have Maya and Pearls here to help if need be.

For a few hours, Phoenix supposes, it should be all right to sleep, and see what loose threads are dangling off the disaster in the morning, waiting for him to pull them and see how much of the mess unravels.

XXX

Sebastian wakes in unfamiliar surroundings, in the middle of a warm huddle of people and blankets.

Not _entirely_ unfamiliar, he realizes as he blinks his eyes into focus. He has been in this house—the Chief Prosecutor's house—a handful of times before.

And not _exactly_ in the center of the huddle. That honor goes to Klavier, he thinks. Klavier looks much _better_ this morning, his skin having almost regained the pretty golden glow that it normally has, his breath rising and falling easily in his chest. Next to Klavier is Apollo; on Apollo's other side is Gumshoe, the detective sprawled with a blanket only half-covering his form. Not that it _matters—_ they're all at least mostly clothed, Gumshoe having stripped down to his dress shirt and trousers like Sebastian.

Ema appears to have spread herself across the top of their strange little nest, her head scant centimeters from his. One of her hands is touching Klavier's head; the other is reaching past Sebastian, to...

To where someone is lying _behind_ him, _hugging_ him, and Sebastian scrambles to his feet as soon as he realizes that, a low rumbling growl tearing itself from his throat.

He falls almost as soon as he stands, pain exploding through his head and fire kindling on the surface of his skin while ice shards dig themselves deep into all his joints. He tries to get himself vertical again immediately—he _must not_ show fear, he _must not_ show physical weakness. Crying is all right, because tears can be used to manipulate people, a bitter, forever-grieving part of him remembers _that_ lesson, but anything else—

Someone hugs him from behind, their arms wrapping around his trembling shoulders, and the fire of his skin cools off slightly.

Someone else adds their arms around Sebastian's chest from the front, their hands sliding between Sebastian and the first person. Sebastian should be able to make out who it is, but his vision seems to be blurred by tears and thinking through the flames that shred his thoughts is difficult. Whoever it is holds onto him with a fierce, tight determination, and some of the ice thaws from his joints, some of the mind-numbing panic fades from his thoughts.

Fingers brush gently against his forehead, and all the pain is abruptly _gone_. The _confusion_ isn't, not completely—he can still feel the twin instincts, his father's carefully-instilled need for Sebastian to at least _appear_ independent versus the... the...

"Shhh, Sebastian. Hush, Herr Erste." Klavier's head rubs against Sebastian's, and Sebastian parses belatedly that it was Klavier who hugged him first and Gumshoe who is currently cradling him, the two somehow working around each other with an almost-practiced ease. "You're all right. You're safe."

"I'm a werewolf." Sebastian whispers out the words, needing to say them out loud again as he blinks tearing eyes and looks to the third person who is touching him. "And you... you can somehow make the transformation... stop?"

Athena Cykes tilts her head, and Sebastian can see small creases around her eyes that he suspects indicate pain. "Not stop it, I don't think. Just... help you find your balance. Stop you from zig-zagging between the human and the wolf and tearing yourself in two. Help you... _identify_ both?"

She sounds so hesitant, so uncertain, and it makes Sebastian a little more comfortable with her touching him. "Well, I, um... I appreciate it. Thank you. It's... nice."

"It is." Ema is sitting up, adopting a cross-legged position at the front of their little den. Her hair is tangled and tousled, her shirt wrinkled, and despite having worked with her on long cases that dragged on all night, Sebastian thinks this is the most disheveled he's ever seen her. "You doing all right there, Debeste?"

"I am now." Sebastian nods, patting at Klavier's head and applying gentle pressure until Klavier unsticks himself from Sebastian's side. "Is it... going to last? When you stop touching me?"

Athena gives a small, uncertain shrug. "I still don't really know what I'm _doing_. Ema...?"

Ema tilts her head, squinting at the dawn light that is spilling into the living room. "The effect isn't as strong once she lets go, but it does _help_. In my personal anecdotal experience, and you'll have to help me pin this down a little better with some additional still-anecdotal evidence, it's... hell, it's like she says. It helps you find the proper balance, the balance that isn't going to _hurt_. It's hard to _stay_ there, and eventually you'll probably fall off again, but it's a nice break."

"All right." Sebastian nods, the motion a little bit hesitant and jerkier than he would like. "Then... if you don't mind, Ms. Cykes..."

Athena pulls her hand away, and a little bit of pain lurches up to settle into his joints. A little bit of dissonance tries to insinuate itself into his thoughts—he shouldn't _want_ to be touched, but he _does_ desperately want to be touched.

That's easily enough dealt with, at least. The person holding him is Detective Gumshoe, one of the few people he trusts unequivocally with his life. If whatever silly wolf he is going to turn into wants to be close to Gumshoe, Sebastian can handle that.

Klavier's hand slides forward, strokes across Sebastian's hesitantly, and the discomfort fades back a little bit further. If Klavier can handle being a werewolf, Sebastian can, as well.

Offering his on-lookers a tentative smile, Sebastian pats at the hands holding him. "Thank you, Detective. I... think we're all right."

"You sure?" Gumshoe's voice is a warm rumble by Sebastian's ear. "Because it's no trouble if y'need me to help you up, pal. Sir!"

Ema smiles past Sebastian's head, an expression filled with fondness and mild exasperation. "I'd say try using _pack_ , but with our luck you'd use it at a crime scene."

Easing himself out of Gumshoe's embrace, moving slowly so that he doesn't jar anything too badly that doesn't want to be jarred, Sebastian settles on the edge of their mattress island. He can't quite seem to manage cross-legged, so he sits with his knees drawn up, his chin resting on his knees.

Apollo Justice is watching him, the man's gaze clear and thoughtful. He hadn't attempted to restrain Sebastian at all during the little episode—had stayed back, allowing Klavier and Gumshoe to grab him, Athena to use... whatever her ability was to help him.

He smiles, now, when he sees Sebastian watching him, a hesitant but warm expression. "How's everyone doing this morning?"

"Tired." Ema rolls her head on her neck. "This whole waking up at dawn thing is going to get old really quickly."

"Agreed with Ema, but otherwise good." Athena smiles at the detective, sitting with her legs underneath her like Blackquill frequently does.

"Feeling better." Klavier eases himself to his feet, balancing on his good leg before walking the handful of tentative steps to the edge of their mattress island and hopping off. His gait is still slightly uneven, and his left hand has a tendency to drop and hover near the bullet wound, but he is smiling as he turns back to face Apollo. " _Much_ better. Ready to go hunting, if you're up to the task."

Apollo rolls his eyes, turning to Gumshoe with raised eyebrows.

Gumshoe rubs at the back of his neck. "I feel fine, pal. The same as yesterday—a little bit more... um..."

Klavier prowls around the edge of their island, settling down at Gumshoe's side and leaning against the detective. "A bit more _wolfish_ , _ja_?"

"Yeah." Gumshoe nods, looking relieved. "Like when I went t' talk to you yesterday, only... more? Like all this, and the full moon comin'..."

"You're all very close to Changing." Apollo's eyes sweep from Gumshoe to Athena to Ema, catching briefly on Sebastian, too. "This whole mess probably accelerated things. But because of what you all were willing to do..."

Athena scoots over and reaches out, taking Apollo's hand in one of hers as his words get thicker.

Clearing his throat, Apollo gives Athena a grateful smile. "But that's all what _happened_. What we need to decide is what we do _now_. Who feels comfortable checking out other werewolf packs, and who feels they need to lie low until the full moon's over? Tell me honestly, because causing trouble with the other packs who _aren't_ against us isn't going to help anything."

Klavier smiles, a tightly controlled expression topped by burning eyes that Sebastian knows mean someone is going to pay for their crimes. "I can either accompany you or lead another team."

Apollo narrows his eyes, studying Klavier. " _You're_ supposed to be resting still. At death's door yesterday and all that?"

One of Klavier's brows arches up, and his smile becomes more pointed. "Are _you_ truly going to lecture me on following doctor's orders?"

Opening his mouth, Apollo glances around the circle. "Anyone else care to field this particular cross-examination?"

Klavier grins in triumph, an honest, open expression that Sebastian is only used to seeing when it's just him and Klavier and Kay. "The defense would like to avoid sounding like an enormous hypocrite, I see."

"You should be careful." Gumshoe claps a hand to Klavier's shoulder. "Just like we should tell the two've you if we're havin' trouble, you shouldn't push yourself beyond what you can handle right now."

"I will not, Detective." Klavier's smile fades into a small, fond one as he pats the hand on his shoulder. "Healing factors are quite nice, though, and I would feel much better _doing_ something rather than hiding and waiting for trouble to find us."

Athena raises her hand as though they were in class. "I'm also good to go. Whatever other bloodline I've got, it's really helping keep me on an even keel."

"I'm..." Gumshoe scratches at his bandage-less cheek, and Sebastian stares at the smooth, unbroken skin. When was the last time he saw Gumshoe without any small nicks and scrapes _somewhere_? Granted, Gumshoe hasn't shaved yet this morning, but _still_. "I think I'll be fine? 'Specially if we're goin' in groups. I just... feel better when I'm with one o' you guys. Or Mr. Edgeworth. But he's probably goin' to be super busy at the Prosecutor's Office, and not as involved in this investigation seein' as—"

"Oh no." Sebastian scrambles to his feet, his heart seeming to thud too strongly in his chest, his pulse bounding in his throat and temples. "Work! We need to get in to work, I have a case that's supposed to be going to _trial_ in the next day or so and—"

"And it will be taken care of, Prosecutor DeBeste."

Turning to face the voice, Sebastian catches his breath and his balance. "P-prosecutor Edgeworth—"

"Good morning, Sebastian." Edgeworth is already impeccably dressed in his usual suit, his hands in his pockets. "Everyone. I trust you all slept well?"

Murmurs and nods all around give confirmation.

"Good." Giving a decisive nod, Edgeworth pulls his right hand from his pocket to gesture towards the kitchen. "Ms. Wright is awake and scrounging together breakfast for all of you. I am going to be heading into the office, to take care of the mundane aspects of this case as well as the details necessary to give you the freedom to pursue the... the Moon aspects, shall we say."

Edgeworth's mouth turns down in a fierce frown, though he doesn't focus the expression on anyone.

Ema has also climbed to her feet, and she takes a tentative step toward Edgeworth. "You're certain? Because I did all right handling everything yesterday, and it's a little... _hard_ , being away from everyone, but since I made it through _that_ without clawing anyone's eyes out—"

Gaze rising to meet Ema's, Edgeworth gives a little shake of his head and what might be a tiny _smile_. "That's all right, Ema. There are enough detectives and prosecutors about that I should be able to re-distribute work loads effectively. We always knew that you and Gumshoe and Gavin would likely need the days around this first full moon off. This just moves up our time-table a little bit. I'm sure the two of you have left notes that we can peruse if needed—"

Ema nods; Gumshoe lowers his head, looking vaguely guilty as he eyes Edgeworth.

Edgeworth studies the detective for a moment before shaking his head. "If I need information, I'll call you. In the meantime, you should head to the kitchen—we have other guests at the moment who likely have information that you'll want to hear."

Clearly intending that as a dismissal, Edgeworth turns away, his hands returning to his pockets as he stalks from the room.

"Well." Apollo levers himself to his feet, moving with slow deliberation. "Let's go see what new pieces of the puzzle the universe has for us."

XXX

"Maya!"

Athena's excited cry of greeting saves Apollo from having to figure out what to call the woman sitting at the table. Mystic Maya is what Pearl always introduces her as, and Apollo figures that's a fair enough title, but sometimes it seems too formal and stiff. The same with Ms. Maya, and Ms. Fey just causes Maya to roll her eyes at him. On the other hand just calling her Maya often feels too forward, as though he's insinuating himself into the family that she and Pearls and Trucy and Mr. Wright (and, he's beginning to suspect, Mr. Edgeworth) have made.

Standing, the Master of Kurain comes forward and gathers Athena into a hug. "Hello, Athena. It's good to see you again."

"You too!" Athena is grinning ear to ear as she looks between Maya and Pearl. "I wasn't expecting this."

"When Nick called and told me you guys were all becoming werewolves and needed some help with the ghostly aspect of things, what else was I supposed to do?" Maya grins, too, her right hand resting on her hip. Her eyes move from Maya to Apollo, though her smile remains unchanged. Reaching out a hand, she sets it slowly on Apollo's shoulder. "How's my new favorite werewolf alpha adjusting to his job?"

"My job's still the same as always." Apollo resists the urge to fidget. Maya's not _that_ much older than he is—is barely two years older than Klavier is—but somehow she always manages to make him feel off-kilter. "I'm still a defense attorney, I just have... some interesting new hobbies."

Maya laughs, a bright pleased sound, and pats his shoulder with more gentleness than he had expected. "That's the way to view it. Come on, now. Everyone in and let's do introductions all around."

The kitchen is soon filled to capacity, the pack squeezing in to line the walls while leaving Maya and Pearl with the kitchen table—a kitchen table that is covered in little square pieces of cloth with strange embroidery on them. Getting a better look at Maya, Apollo notices the dark circles under her eyes, the slightly dimmed luster to her hair, and wonders if the two Kurain priests have slept at all.

Trucy darts in as the introductions are wrapping up, a box filled with assorted food items balanced precariously in her arms. "Oh, good! Everyone's up. Aunt Maya can tell you about the anti-ghost charms, and I can get breakfast going. It's going to be kind of an eclectic breakfast, and I've got a shopping list for one of your teams to fill when you're kicking werewolf butt, but it'll do."

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Apollo frowns at Maya. "You have _anti-ghost charms_?"

"Correction—we just spent all night making anti-ghost charms." Maya yawns hugely, with a bit more drama than is probably necessary. "Now that you're up, we're going to steal one of your mattresses or just collapse in the center of Wolf Island and catch some dream-sheep while you go do whatever werewolves do when they're feuding."

"We aren't feuding, _fraulein_ medium. We are merely looking for justice, and to prevent ourselves from becoming scapegoats." Klavier is a vibrating ball of energy at Apollo's side, ready— _eager—_ to chase down the people who hurt him and Sebastian. The people who thought they could _use_ him, as others have used him.

Who tried to help Kristoph get to him again, as though Kristoph hasn't _already_ done enough damage to last a lifetime to both Klavier and Apollo, and Apollo can feel his upper lip curl back in a snarl.

It's easier to shove the snarl away than it would have been at the last full moon, and Apollo finds his eyes sweeping across the kitchen, taking in his tough, eclectic pack. Juniper had said it would be easier, when there were more people to spread the pack-bonds around, and what happened yesterday may actually be useful in the short-term. ""We appreciate whatever the two of you have been doing, and I hope it comes it handy, but when you say _anti-ghost—_ "

"It would stop Clay from being close to you, yes." Maya's eyes flick toward the hallway.

Turning in the direction she indicated, Apollo allows the wolf to rise up, silver lightning dancing across his vision, jumping frantically from joint to joint beneath his skin. Clay jumps into immediate focus, standing in view in the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest as he scowls at the table.

Apollo doesn't think about moving; he just _does_ , and everyone steps out of his way, letting him make his way to Clay's side without distraction. Glancing back over his shoulder, he eyes Maya. "You made those for us because of what happened with Kristoph?"

Maya nods, her expression somber and grave. (And _compassionate_ , there is always so much compassion these days when he sees her. Apollo hadn't understood until he was busy lowering Clay's body into the ground what Maya's work as a spirit medium means—how in tune she is to the grieving process, how patient and centered the usually-bubbly woman can become if she thinks it's necessary.) "For those who haven't transformed completely yet, it won't change much. It'll just make sure that nothing incorporeal—scratch that, nothing _ghostly_ , nothing that's the spirit of a human being—can interfere with them. For you and Klavier..."

"We appreciate the gesture, Ms. Fey. More than can be put into words." Klavier has trailed after Apollo, stands just inside the kitchen. "But we will not be able to accept this."

"Klavier..." Apollo has to blink, to draw shuddering breaths and force his vocal cords to be human.

"The next words out of your mouth better be _we're taking the protection_." Clay smiles, though Apollo can see the tension in his shoulders, the hurt in his eyes as he leans against a barrier that Apollo can't see or feel. "Don't do something stupid and possibly fatal just to make me feel good."

"If you had not been there yesterday, _Herr_ Terran, I would almost certainly have died." A shiver runs up and down Klavier's body, his left hand dropping so the tips of his fingers press against his left thigh before shifting to his stomach, his right wrist—the areas Kristoph marked on him, Apollo realizes, and his own hand reaches out, traces possessively over the same skin. "Your company and skills are not something I think we should give up easily."

Clay bites down on his bottom lip, his eyes flicking from Klavier to Apollo and back. "If there hadn't been ghosts that could get at you in the first place, you wouldn't have been in such dire straits, yeah?"

"Clay." Apollo waits for Clay to look at him, not quite daring to call up enough energy to reach out and touch his friend. He needs to set a comfortable, livable example for Sebastian and the other wolves-in-waiting, which tumbling completely into his wolf form at the first sign of something stressful will _not_ do. "I'm not taking one. You're staying with me."

"Perhaps..." Klavier looks back towards the kitchen table. "We should decide who is going with who, and where, first?"

"It won't change my decision." Apollo turns back to the others, breaking eye contact with Clay at the last possible moment. "But, yeah, that would be a good idea."

"You and me together, Herr Forehead?" Klavier smiles, his eyebrows quirking up as he loops his fingers through his belt. "We would be able to fight off any ghost, given our own gifts."

Apollo almost says yes. It would be frighteningly, delightfully easy to say yes.

One of their almost-pack whimpers, a low sound of distress that is quickly cut off. Sebastian, Apollo thinks, because he knows the others well enough to recognize their noises. It wouldn't be fair to the others for he and Klavier to hare off on their own, leaving them to handle the steadily-closing moon and all that it brings without help. "Not if we're sending multiple groups. Though it might not be a bad idea for you and Sebastian to stay here, anyway—you're both going to be—"

" _Nein._ " Klavier bares his teeth, meeting Apollo's eyes in challenge for two brief, eternal seconds. Then he flicks his eyes to the side, his shoulders intentionally relaxing. "I am helping. And we are not discussing it again. Twice is one time too many."

Apollo sighs. "People keep telling me that staying quiet and following doctor's orders is helpful, but fine, we're done with that. Prosecutor DeBeste—"

"I'm helping, too." Sebastian's chin is set in stubborn determination, though a sheen of tears has risen to cover his eyes.

Gritting his teeth, Apollo pinches at the bridge of his nose. Don't they know _any_ people who aren't stubborn? "You were bitten far closer to the full moon than you should have been. If Klavier's transformation is anything to go by, it's a miracle you're still _standing_ and _coherent_."

Sebastian pales slightly. "I _am_ doing all right, though. Especially... it's better when I'm with the, um... the pack. Especially K—Prosecutor Gavin and Detective Gumshoe. Or... or Ms. Cykes."

Maya tilts her head, flicking her eyes up and down Athena in clear consideration, but she doesn't say anything.

Apollo swallows, giving Klavier a guilty look from the corner of his eye. Did they do _everything_ wrong, during Klavier's transformation? Did they make it harder than it had to be?

"We did the best we could, _Sternchen_." Klavier speaks in a low, gruff voice, accent thick, and though he is clearly speaking to Apollo he doesn't look at him. "We had no pack at the time, I was in no condition to make a good decision about whether I wanted to be in someone's or not, and the time-table was even more compact. Plus we did not have our lovely _Fraulein Mond_ as almost-pack, who may be helping even _without_ physical contact."

Athena gives a little snort of laughter. "You cannot call me _moon_ , Klavier. It's just silly."

"It fits with your earring, and with how you are able to help those with the Moon in their veins." Klavier's smile is small but warm as he toys with his bangs. "But as Apollo said earlier... let us just be honest with each other. Everyone who wishes to and feels capable of pursuing the list of names Navon gave us..."

The whole pack raises their hands immediately, no hesitation, no doubt in their scents. Trucy _also_ throws her hand in the air, but Apollo is going to have a hard enough time divvying people up as it is.

Apollo presses a finger to the center of his forehead, where tension is building. He's going to have to think about this reasonably. The most vulnerable member of the pack right now is Sebastian, and Athena is the best at helping him. There should be a full wolf with each party, though, so that means Klavier—

Except... no, that's not going to work at all. They can't—

"Herr Erste, I appreciate your enthusiasm—truly, I do..." Klavier straightens, looking legitimately apologetic as he studies the other prosecutor. "But I do not think we should send you out with _any_ group. The alphas know who was approved to be Changed for our pack, Apollo. Which means—"

"Yeah, I had just thought of that." Apollo nods. "You have to stay out of sight, Prosecutor DeBeste. If they figure out what happened before we're ready, we'll be in trouble—Klavier will be in trouble."

"Ah." Sebastian seems to deflate, his fingers twining together and breaking apart, seeming to search for something that isn't there. "That's... reasonable. Though I do _hate_ the idea of having to just hide while others do the dangerous work."

Squeezing in between Sebastian and Ema, Klavier throws an arm around the lanky man's shoulders. "You can be useful still, I think, if you wish to be. You can be an information center, with both teams sending you information and you making sure we know what's going on."

Ema taps her foot against the floor, crossing her arms in clear irritation. "Two teams, then? When did we decide on two teams?"

Apollo moves from Clay's side and back into the kitchen, trying not to whimper as Clay automatically tries to follow and comes up short against the invisible, intangible barrier again. "We'll want a full werewolf with every team. Since we only have two werewolves, that means two teams. Me and Athena together, and you and Ema together—"

Trucy's hand is suddenly directly in front of his face, Trucy standing on tip-toe to try to glower into his eyes. " _Me._ I'm on your team."

"You're not a werewolf in _any_ sense of the word." Taking hold of Trucy's hand, Apollo lowers their joined fingers. Staring into the young woman's eyes, he tries to let her see in his face that this isn't just about keeping her safe—though there _is_ an element of that to it, Apollo wanting to keep at least _one_ of the people he cares about out of the line of fire.

Trucy's chin lifts slightly. "They know that I know, though."

"But all it would take is a single bite." Squeezing Trucy's fingers, Apollo allows the horror that rises in him at the thought of a werewolf attacking Trucy—to hurt _him_ , to punish _him—_ to leech into his voice. "And yeah, we've got whatever abilities Athena's developing, but if we can keep it your _choice_..."

For another second Trucy meets his eyes, and then she drops her gaze, scuffing at the kitchen floor with one foot. "You _promise_? If I decide I want to Change—"

"I will do it myself, and you'll always have a place in my pack." Pulling the young woman into an embrace, Apollo nuzzles against the top of her head.

"Plus..." Maya speaks up from her place still sitting serene at the table. "I've got something you can do, Trucy. Assuming you don't mind working with Pearly and I to give you guys what information Kurain Village has on the different bloodlines, since Nick says that would come in handy...?"

"Yes!" Trucy perks up immediately, bounding over to the table and beaming at Maya. "Most _definitely_ yes. Bastion and I can help with that as well as coordinating werewolves in the field!"

" _Seb_ astion." Sebastian sighs out the correction so quietly Apollo doubts Trucy even heard.

"Right." Apollo gives Maya a grateful smile. "So, me and Athena—"

"And me." Gumshoe pulls himself up to his full height, something Apollo's not certain he's ever seen before, the man tending to stand with rounded shoulders. "I'm not lettin' two defense attorneys run around without any protection, pal."

"Okay, so me and Athena and Gumshoe." Apollo draws long, slow breaths. It's good that everyone's trying to help and make sure that they make the best decision about this. Really. He will not let himself get frustrated. "And Klavier and Ema? You two are at least used to working together."

Ema scans her eyes up and down Klavier's body before giving a slight smile. "I guess we can manage to not kill each other for the duration of an investigation. You up for it, rock star?"

"Never readier." Klavier bears his teeth.

"Good. Then... that's that." Apollo gives a decisive nod.

"Not quite." Maya covers a yawn with her hand. "We've still got these little charms to hand out..."

Shaking his head, Apollo glances back toward Clay. "I'm not taking one. 'Thena, Gumshoe, you're welcome to if you want, but _I'm_ not going to."

Athena hesitates, her fingers glancing over her earring. "If we have the charms, and you're close to us..."

Apollo gives a short, sharp nod. "But I'll be able to get away from the field, if need be. And it won't be _me_ carrying it, at least." His eyes drift back towards where Clay is hovering, and Apollo focuses his concentration, bringing his friend into sharp focus again. "Assuming—"

"If you insisted no one in your group brought protection, I would have kicked you in your little furry face next time you changed. But this... this is all right." Clay's smile isn't quite genuine, and his shoulders are hunched as though he _hurts_ , but Apollo can hear the truth in the words, his bracelet staying loose around his wrist.

"All right." Gesturing from his pack arrayed along the wall to the priestesses at the table, Apollo forces a smile onto his face. "Let's get this hunt started, then."


	8. Chapter 8: Investigation

_**Chapter Eight: Investigation**_

Apollo's very dramatic declaration is unfortunately followed by all the mundane necessities involved in getting a decent-sized number of people cleaned, fed, clothed, and into vehicles with legal drivers. It turns out to be a good thing the detectives are on two separate teams, because both of them have both cars and licenses to drive them and are willing to act as chauffeurs for their pack-mates—Ema with a bit more teasing than Gumshoe, especially when Klavier insists that they stop at his house for him to get some _real_ clothes, but it's clear the teasing is friendly.

"Athena." Maya calls her over to the kitchen table once Athena is done scarfing down something that _tastes_ like a bacon sandwich, even if it doesn't quite look or smell like one.

"Yeth?" Athena swallows her last bite. "I mean, yes? Sorry."

"That's all right." Maya grins. "I would be the _last_ person to berate someone for enjoying food. Here's your charm."

Maya holds out a beautifully put together square of fabric. On closer examination, it's a combination of purple and white fabric, with stitching and embroidered symbols done with a purple thread dyed so darkly it's almost black except for when the light catches it just right. Lighter purple strands emerge from one end of the charm to form a little loop for carrying, and Athena sticks her ring finger through it, allowing the charm to dangle. "I think I've seen something like this before. My mom had these charms from Shinto shrines that she said her father gave her..."

" _Omamori_." Maya sits up a bit straighter, looking pleased. "They're derived from the same system, I think, though I obviously know a lot more about the Kurain tradition than the Shinto one."

"And it'll really keep ghosts away?" Pulling her finger loose, Athena tries to think of a subtle place to hang the charm and ends up sliding it into one of her pockets instead.

"It better, after the energy and work Pearly and I put in." Maya gives a dramatic yawn. "Though it'll _just_ keep ghosts away. Anything else—including other bloodlines—would take something a lot bigger. Speaking of bloodlines... do you have a few minutes to come look at something with me?"

"Depends on how fast a minute. And how distressing I'm going find the thing I'm supposed to look at." Athena glances around, but it seems that Apollo is still in the shower, giving her at least a little bit of time before they have to leave.

"I don't think it'll be too upsetting, but since I'm not double-gifted, I'm probably not the best person to make that distinction." Maya's voice is quiet, gentle—the voice that she uses to greet people as the Master of Kurain, Athena knows from past experience.

"So you're sure I am?" Athena's hands move to her earring, stroke over the smooth surface. "Double-gifted. Which is, I guess, what everyone calls it?"

Maya shrugs. "It's what Kurain calls it, and from the way you're reacting what the wolves call it. When we're being polite, at least."

"And when you're not?" Rocking back on her heels, Athena breathes as quietly as she can, wanting to hear every nuance of Athena's answer. "Being polite, that is."

"When people aren't being polite..." Trepidation tugs the tone of Maya's words up and down in a shivering hum. "Crazy." A slight sheen of anger colors the word, and Athena wonders who else has been accused of madness, to make Maya's reaction to having to say the word so immediate. "Damned." Regret and fear darken the tone of the word, bring Maya's volume down just a tiny bit. "Broken."

"Ah." Athena swallows. "Lovely."

"I've never actually known anyone who was double-gifted, so I don't have any personal experience to give you." Maya stands, reaching out to rest her hand against Athena's arm for just a moment. "Come on, let me show you what I _can_ offer."

They make their way swiftly through the house, dodging other people, until they enter a guest bedroom that has a surprising number of Steel Samurai and Jammin' Ninja toys strewn about. Luggage that must belong to Maya and Pearls sits in the center of the floor, and Maya immediately begins digging in one of the bigger bags, pulling out a carefully-wrapped package.

"This book is ancient." Cloth comes away in layers from a volume that may be leather-bound. The pages are browned, curling slightly as Maya opens it. "It was last updated, oh, a hundred years ago or so?"

Maya offers the book to Athena, but she puts her arms behind her back and shakes her head. "Uh uh. I know enough about old things to know better than to touch it."

Maya smiles, stroking her fingers over the faded writing. "Fair enough. I was terrified the first time I went to look something up in it, too. To answer a question from the eternity of five minutes ago, though... do _you_ think you're double-gifted?"

"Yes." Athena's shoulders rise in a brief shrug. "I'm doing things I shouldn't be able to do. I wasn't _sure_ , not until yesterday, but now it's hard to come up with another explanation."

Maya nods. "With the double-gifted, it's not just a matter of them having both gifts, it's a matter of the attributes interacting. I'm going to sit down with Trucy and make a cheat-sheet for everyone, but to give you a little head-start... each bloodline is usually associated with four attributes."

Maya's voice steadies on the last line, the woman taking comfort in falling back on something familiar, something she learned from rote memory. Athena smiles to hear it, Widget glowing a calm blue on her chest. "What attributes does the Moon have?"

"Imagination. Illusion." Maya's smile fades away as she flips through the book, towards the front. "Also fear. Bewilderment. The shadow self, with all that can imply. Most of the bloodlines have a good and a bad side, though the Moon is probably one of the more up-front about them."

Maya's fingers still on a page maybe a quarter or a third of the way through the book, and Athena stares at the upside-down letters. "And you think you know what my other bloodline is?"

"I've got a guess, based on what you _could_ do and what you _are_ doing." Maya turns the book so that it's the right side up for Athena. "This is the Strength bloodline. It's one that's been missing, so far as we knew, for two centuries."

Athena reaches out without meaning to, though she keeps her fingers from touching the beautiful image that takes up a full page. A woman stands, a lion at her feet, her hands resting gently on either side of its open mouth. A field of faded flowers surround them, and the expression on the woman's face is one of utter serenity.

"Strength. Patience. Compassion. Control." Maya turns the page, revealing cramped text scrawled in multiple hand-writings spidering across the next pages. "One of the nicer bloodlines to have, all things considered, though also one of the most dangerous to the one who bears it."

"Control?" Athena meets Maya's eyes, trying to force her voice to come out higher than a whisper.

"Control. But a... _soft_ control. Not forcing someone to do something, but talking them around to doing it. Helping them figure out what it is that they want to do." Maya reaches out with one hand, her fingers brushing the air near Athena's right ear. "Your hearing lets you understand people—that's one of the things written multiple times here. It lets you accept others—forgive their imperfections, and help guide them towards what they need to be."

The fingers of Athena's left hand stroke across Widget's surface again. "Like what I do as a psychologist."

Maya nods. "There's notes in here about crossing the bloodlines. Or at least what it means to cross with the High Priestess—with ours."

"And what does it say?" Athena finds that her arms have crossed over her chest, that her hands are clenched tight in her jacket. As though hugging herself could makes things better, and it's _silly_ , because there's nothing _bad_ about what Maya is saying. _Big_ , yes, and intimidating in its immensity, but not necessarily _bad_.

"For us it basically says _don't_. Not because it'll damage our gift, which is one of the most frequent warnings, but because it will _enhance_ it. Strength and the Priestess together make spirit mediums with uncommon strength, unmatchable compassion, and extremely short life-spans." Maya flips pages for a moment before shutting the book with obvious reluctance. "They burn themselves out trying to fix the world, to heal the grief and hurt that they see. So it's forbidden to create them."

"Oh." Athena's blood runs cold. She had _thought_ , after talking with Juniper, that she understood the risks she was taking. But perhaps she was wrong.

"Which isn't to say that the combination _you_ have will be dangerous. The wolves are very different from us, and the pack... well, you can bring someone back from the edge of death with a night of cuddling. I think this might be a combination that does something good, rather than something bad." A broad grin breaks across Maya's face, and Athena can hear a strange combination of certainty and hope shimmering through the words. The lack of fear from Maya makes it easier to push away her own hesitances.

"Thanks." Athena smiles at the older woman. "For showing me that, and giving me your best guess on what bloodline I have. It really—"

" _Thena!_ " Apollo's bellow can be heard through the whole house and probably the whole neighborhood, Athena thinks.

Maya laughs, wrapping the book up and setting it carefully back in her luggage. "I think your alpha's eager to leave."

"I think my alpha is a lovely man who sometimes needs to learn patience and always needs to learn volume control." Flashing Maya a victory sign, Athena summons up a bright grin of her own. "But apparently I'm a good person to help with both, so—"

" _'THENA!_ " The bellow is closer and somehow even louder than before.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Athena waves at Maya and sprints from the room, honestly just as eager as Apollo is to begin their investigation.

XXX

Klavier stands easily next to the car, his weight seeming evenly balanced on both legs. He views the stately two-story house on the edge of the city with the same calm appraisal Ema has seen him use at crime scenes. "How do I look, Fraulein Detective?"

Ema raises one eyebrow. "Do you _really_ want me to answer that? After everything I said about us stopping at your house so you could get pants that, and I quote, do _not_ make you look like a clumsy elephant?"

The ghost of a smile touches Klavier's face. "The better a first impression we make, _fraulein_ , the less likely this will come to bloodshed. _More_ bloodshed, at least."

"Gavin. They're _werewolves_. Not the fashion police. You look fine."

"And smell fine?" Klavier tilts his head to the side, and though his teeth are still showing, it's not a smile any more. "No blood smell?"

Ema hesitates before drawing a deep breath in through her nose. "Nothing I can smell. But I'm not you. Not... you know. Yet."

"Hn."

Ema's not entirely sure how to interpret the considering noise that Klavier makes, so she decides to ignore it. "Do we approach this like an investigation, then? Knock on the door, ask some questions?"

" _Ja_. I think, for now, that's likely best." Klavier's eyes fall to where Ema's holster is concealed by her lab coat. "You're ready in case of trouble?"

Grimacing, Ema resists the urge to check her revolver for the thirty-eighth time. "As ever."

"Don't hesitate to shoot if you need to. We've seen how well I recovered from a poisoned wound, and if we're at the point of needing to use guns we're at the point where survival is the most important thing." Tossing his head back, his hair somehow managing to fall into an artfully perfect style, Klavier begins stalking up the drive. He doesn't limp at all, despite the fact that Ema has seen him favoring his left leg all day, and she wonders whether that's going to cost him later.

Not her problem, she decides. If Klavier feels it's important to look strong and uninjured right now, she'll follow his lead. He's the one who seems to have made the transition to werewolf brain with the least amount of difficulty, after all; he'll hopefully be able to predict what's important and what isn't when interacting with the other wolves and act accordingly.

Rapping firmly on the front door of the house, Klavier tilts his head, his eyes unfocused as he clearly waits for something. A sound? That's the most likely thing, and he apparently hears it, because he straightens to his full height and faces the door squarely, projecting his voice as though they were in court or he were on a stage. "Clemens Peace-speaker, my name is Klavier Gavin. I'm Apollo Double-gifted's beta. I come to take counsel with you on matters of import to both our people."

Seconds tick by, the sounds of dry, rustling leaves seeming to increase in intensity with each passing moment. Klavier followed the script that Navon gave them, but will it be enough? Was it _accurate_? Lang trusts Shae and Shae's pack, but—

The door swings open with nary a creak, though it does stick briefly on a mat that asks everyone to wipe their paws in cheery child-friendly script. The woman standing in the doorway is big, looking like she should be in her early thirties, though according to Navon she is in her late forties. Her hazel eyes flick from Klavier to Ema and back before settling the full weight of her attention on Klavier. "I wouldn't have expected a visit from one of your people. Especially not at this time."

Klavier's lips pull back from his teeth in an expression that isn't quite smile or threat, though it could easily become either. "We wish circumstances didn't drive us to socialize at this important time, but one must react to threats when they appear. And this is a threat that you will want to hear about."

Clemens scans her eyes up and down Klavier again, her expression carefully neutral, hard to read. She had seemed pleasant enough when Ema had been interviewed in preparation for becoming a werewolf, but will she be the same here, with her wolves, when the other alphas aren't watching? Drawing a deep breath, Clemens straightens her body, her eyes locking on Klavier's. A peculiar, tingling sensation runs over Ema's skin—not exactly an unpleasant sensation, but strange enough that it causes her to shiver.

Klavier reaches out instantly, his left hand settling on her shoulder, and there is nothing of the smile left in his expression. "I come to you peacefully. Will you make this a fight?"

Both Clemens' eyebrows arch, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I do believe you _would_ make it a fight. Not because you're night-cursed, but because you've settled into the strongest damn beta I've ever seen. Well, maybe second-strongest. Navon Knowledge-seeker is a frightening man, too. You say you have information I'll want to know?"

Just like that the tension between the two dissipates, leaving a void that feels almost physical. Only Klavier's hand on her shoulder keeps Ema from stumbling forward before they're invited in.

The house is as pleasant on the inside as it is on the outside—old, worn, but well-kept, cleaned and patched with obvious care and affection. Ema follows as Klavier is led through to what is clearly the living room.

"I have to be at work in about an hour." Clemens takes one of the slightly frayed love seats, gesturing for Klavier and Ema to take the couch.

They do, and Klavier launches into an abbreviated version of what happened—that he was shot and injured with a silver bullet yesterday, that it must have been the work of someone who is privy to information that only the local alphas should have known. Clemens responds with horror at the news of the shooting, fury at the accusation it may be someone from a local pack, though the fury fades away into hesitant uncertainty as Klavier lays out his reasons for the theory.

While Klavier talks, Ema watches their surroundings, both for their safety and to see if she notices anything that might give them a clue. She sees two of Clemens' pack members peeking in to see how the meeting is going, one a small, fierce woman, the other a lanky, nervous male who ducks away as soon as he notices Ema watching him. Both appear more curious than guilty.

There are pictures scattered around the living room, announcing at least four other adult members of Clemens' pack and several children aged between five and fifteen years old. Nothing seems out of the ordinary; nothing screams _attempted murderers_.

On the other hand, nothing really screams _werewolf_ , aside from their slightly odd living arrangements, so perhaps it's just a matter of perspective.

"I'm sorry, Prosecutor Gavin." Clemens give a slight emphasis to the human title. "To use silver against a fellow wolf... I find it a very difficult thing to contemplate. I can assure you that no one in my pack participated in this scheme, though I'm afraid I can't give you much of a lead on who did."

"If you could keep your ears open, _fraulein_." Klavier spreads his hands, palm-up. "All we ask for is your cooperation and assistance in finding whoever is endangering all of us with their foolishness."

"You have it." Clemens gestures toward the door. "But for now, if you don't mind, I'll ask you to leave."

"I take your word as fact." Klavier gives his head a slight incline. "Though if you wouldn't mind us looking around briefly, just to ensure..."

"You're a very brazen man." Clemens frowns, her fingers drumming against the edge of her seat.

"I am a prosecutor, Peace-spinner." Smiling as he raises his shoulders in an apologetic shrug, Klavier levers himself to his feet, seeming to walk with ease again, though he moves more slowly than Ema expects. "I am used to seeing things with my own eyes. If you've nothing to hide..."

"One quick tour. Then you leave, so that I can go about doing my own investigating." Gesturing for them to follow, Clemens begins a whirlwind tour of the house.

Ema keeps her eyes peeled, looking for any signs of firearms, any sign of the equipment needed to forge one's own silver bullets—given the accuracy with which the bullet was shot, Ema suspects it was custom-made by someone with a great deal of experience.

When they are escorted out of the house ten minutes later, after cordial if cool goodbyes, Ema still hasn't spotted anything useful. Since this is just their first visit, that isn't necessarily a bad thing—unless they're _very_ unlucky, only _one_ of the twelve local packs will have been involved. It's still frustrating.

Klavier settles down into the passenger seat with a deep sigh, stretching his left leg out in front of him and wincing as he massages at his thigh muscles.

Ema raises one eyebrow at him as she starts the car and puts it into gear.

Klavier scowls. "Don't you dare say a thing. In my place, you would be right where I am."

"Depends on how exactly we're mimicking the situation." Ema pulls them back onto the road, aiming toward the next address that Navon gave them. "You're not bleeding, are you? Because that would probably be bad."

"No, not bleeding." Klavier grimaces as he presses down on the area where the bullet had lodged. "Just sore. Which is _not_ permission for you to say everyone told me so—we need more than just Apollo out here trying to find answers."

Ema lifts one hand off the wheel to give a demurring gesture. "I would never dream of it. I was just going to ask how our little charm worked, and if it gave any useful information."

Using his right hand, Klavier fishes the little green magatama that Phoenix gave them out of his jacket pocket. His expression while he studies the magatama is dubious, though Ema sees no reason a secret-revealing rock should be more unbelievable than werewolves. "I saw no locks on her. Assuming this is working properly, she was hiding no secrets with regards to the shooting."

"Do we have any reason to believe it wouldn't be working?" Ema uses her right hand to poke at the stone, her left still on the wheel.

"Perhaps it doesn't work for werewolves." Klavier frowns at it, then gives her a smile that Ema distrusts immediately. "I think perhaps I should test it. _Fraulein_ Scientist, what is the most embarrassing action you have ever taken in the pursuit of knowledge?"

"Gavin!" Ema's foot slams down on the accelerator, driving both of them back into their seats, but not before Ema sees Klavier's eyes go wide.

" _Gott_ , it really works. And is really quite hard to miss." Sliding the magatama back into his pocket, Klavier rubs at his ears. "There is a _sound_ when the locks appear, as well as the locks themselves." Lowering his right hand to rub at his nose, Klavier gives a dainty little sneeze. "Also a smell. It would be quite unmistakable, I think, were someone hiding secrets from us."

"Good." Ema can feel a blush receding from her cheeks and eases up on the accelerator as it becomes clear that Klavier isn't going to press the question he asked.

"Really though, _fraulein_... six locks?" A smile flits across Gavin's face as he settles more comfortably in his seat, his weight resting on his right side. "That must have been quite the—"

" _Gavin._ "

"Story that we can discuss once this is over. I do understand propriety and proper order of events, detective. I promise." Closing his eyes, Klavier starts humming to himself, a little sing-song series of notes that become more dreamy and disjointed as he appears to fall into a light doze.

Eyes fixed on the road, Ema hopes that they find the answers they need quickly, so they can all get back to the more important task of figuring out how their expanded world works and exactly where they fit into it.

XXX

"Fascinating." Arthur Colyte peers across the top of a steaming cup of tea at Apollo, his eyes bright and piercing. "You, dear pup, are absolutely _fascinating_."

Athena tilts her head to the side, curious about rather than concerned by whatever she's hearing in Colyte's voice.

That helps Apollo keep his temper, though he can't quite keep his eyes from narrowing as he studies the old werewolf. "I came to talk to you alpha-to-alpha, sir. About concerns that should worry _every_ wolf in the city."

"I've heard your concerns, and I will grant their veracity. Some fool running about risking exposure for all the Moon is of course of grave consequence to us all." Colyte flashes a toothy smile. "None of that changes the fact that I find you fascinating, and would happily have invited you into my territory, defenders and all, just for the opportunity to talk with you."

Apollo can't quite keep his eyes from flicking to Gumshoe, who is standing at easy attention behind where Apollo and Athena sit, his eyes scanning the area for threats. "Given what's happened, I don't think it would be wise for me to leave my pack scattered about the city."

"And they provide good back-up. I'm not insulting or questioning your tactics, Double-Gifted." Colyte practically vibrates with barely-suppressed curiosity and glee as he uses the same epithet Navon had for Apollo. "I just think you don't truly understand what you are, and what you could mean."

"Right now my bloodlines or lack thereof aren't important. What's important is who's shooting at my people—who's threatening all of us." Apollo shoves his own teacup away, having lost patience with the steaming liquid and its owner both. "Do you have any idea who it could be?"

Colyte also sets down his tea and shoves it away. "I have no idea who shot at you. I could give you my best theories, if you'd like, but they would be based on nothing but knowledge of the alphas in the vicinity and their likelihood of responding to discomfort with violence."

Apollo glances down at his arm, wiggling his hand slightly, but his bracelet remains stubbornly loose around his wrist. No leads to be found here, then. "If you could tell me any suspicions you have, I'd appreciate it."

"You can tell if someone's telling you the truth." Colyte's head drops, his fingers reaching for his tea again as his eyes skewer through Apollo. "Not like we learn to—not by listening to the heartbeat, smelling the fear. You _see_ it, don't you?"

Apollo can feel his eyes widening, and he tries to decide what he should say—what will be the least damaging information he can give away.

"We're not here to discuss my alpha." Athena steps into the silence smoothly, lifting her tea and taking a dainty sip as though it weren't burning hot, as though she sat and spoke with far-too-observant werewolves on a regular basis. "We're here to discuss the injury my beta took, and I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to derail the conversation."

"You are an articulate young woman." Colyte sets his cup down again. "And I will, of course, give you what you want. But that won't assuage my curiosity. And really, what does it hurt to talk to me, when you wear your second bloodline _proudly_ in your name?"

"My surname isn't Justice because I've got some stupid long-lost bloodline." Apollo _probably_ shouldn't have called the bloodlines stupid, not in front of this man who clearly finds them fascinating, but he's starting to get really, _really_ annoyed. "I'm an orphan. I gave myself the surname of what I wanted to be— _justice_ , in a world that sorely needs it—long before I knew there was anything like bloodlines. So if you're hoping to get answers about the bloodlines, you're not going to get them from me."

"That depends on what kinds of questions we wish to ask." Colyte speaks in a clipped, cool tone, his eyes never leaving Apollo's as he steeples his hands in front of his chest. "But you're irritable right now—understandable, with your only full wolf having been grievously injured yesterday and the rest of your soon-to-be pack almost but not _quite_ fully Changed. So I'll give you the information you want. If I were to pick one alpha that I could see betraying trust so utterly, using poison against his own kind, I would pick Destin Stubborn-fool—Destin Pot, to use the naming conventions you're undoubtedly still more comfortable with. He may also have coerced Rex Tainer—Rex Damned-idiot—into being his cat's paw, but Rex doesn't jump into stupid situations unless Destin tells her to."

Apollo blinks, caught off guard by the stream of information and the ease with which Colyte utters his insults toward the other alphas. There had been no tightening of his bracelet, no nudge from Athena to say that she heard anything untoward in the man's voice. Clearly he believes what he's saying.

Reaching out to primly rescue his tea cup from its exile, apparently too magnetically attracted to it to leave the poor thing alone for long, Colyte takes a dainty sip. "Does that fit with the information that Shae or Shae's pack gave you?"

Athena frowns, the fingers of her right hand sliding across Widget. "You... why do you assume we got information from Shae?"

Colyte takes another dainty sip. "I find Shae Pack-builder to be _almost_ as fascinating as your pack, pup. I was half-convinced Shae was double-gifted until a true miracle stumbled into our midst. Or perhaps more than one...? Looking into your history and the records of your courtroom trials..."

Athena shakes her head, smiling with a demureness that Apollo doesn't think he's ever seen from her. "I'm nothing special, sir. Just a friend of Apollo and Klavier's, trying to do what I can to help them out."

"Clever pups." Colyte gives a slight chuckle as he stands with a groan that Apollo's fairly sure is feigned. "Choosing your words carefully. Despite what you undoubtedly believe, I can tell when my curiosity isn't desired. Go about your hunt, and please let us all know once you've brought it to a successful close. Whoever did this will need to be dealt with. But once that's done... you will need allies, my little children of change, if you really wish to understand and make full use of your gifts. Allies who have spent their lives gathering what scraps of knowledge the world has left us about our full potential."

"I'll be sure to keep your words in mind." Apollo doesn't add a _sir_ to the end of the sentence, the word sticking in his throat as he stands and faces Arthur Nosy-alpha evenly. He keeps his eyes to the right, as Juniper has done with him—not challenging, but asserting his own authority. "Thank you for the information. And the tea."

They collect Gumshoe on the way back to the front door, the detective having eased his way into the hall to talk with one of Colyte's lower-ranked wolves. The female melts back into the shadows at Apollo's approach; Gumshoe grins and falls into place a half-step behind him.

Allowing just enough of the wolf's power to touch his eyes so that he can properly see Clay, Apollo looks around as surreptitiously as he can. He doesn't need to, though—Clay is leaning against the front door, and he lifts his right hand in an _okay_ gesture before the charms that Athena and Gumshoe are carrying force his body out the door.

No sign of lying from Arthur Colyte; no sign of guns matching the caliber forensics announced this morning, or the accoutrements needed to mold silver bullets. It's time to move on to the next place, and see if they'll have more luck.

"That guy's got an interestin' place." Gumshoe makes the statement as they're all busy buckling into the car, his expression thoughtful as he looks out the window to where Colyte leans against his porch railing, watching them.

"That's one way to put it." Apollo tries to keep his tone light as they pull out of the driveway... leaving Clay behind once more, until they reach their next destination and Apollo is able to walk far enough away from the group to call him. "What did you think, 'Thena?"

"I think..." Widget glows a dark blue under Athena's fingers for a moment before she shrugs. "He's a very complicated man. Not our enemy right now, and deeply, deeply fascinated by the bloodlines, but... we're going to want to be careful, if we end up on opposite sides of an altercation."

"We're not planning on getting into many altercations with werewolves, once they stop shooting at us." Reaching back from his passenger's seat, Apollo takes Athena's hand in his.

"And even if we _do_ have to take them all on, we'll win." Athena's mouth turns up into a grin, and she squeezes his fingers. The gesture is far more comforting than it probably should be, seeming to ease a layer of concern off Apollo's thoughts that he hadn't even realized was there. "That's what we do—win against impossible odds."

Returning Athena's grin, Apollo pulls out his cell phone and starts texting the information they received to Klavier. "Destin Pot for us, then, and Rex Tainer for Klavier's team?"

"Sounds good." Smacking her fist into her palm, Athena bears her teeth. "We should go in ready to fight. Those were the two Navon had said were most likely the culprits, too."

"We'll be careful." Apollo nods. They had saved the most likely culprits for after they had visited some of the other alphas, to make their investigation more an investigation and less a witch-hunt against Shae's political enemies. "But we're also going to get whoever did this."

"Damn straight." Gumshoe rumbles out the words, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "What they did to Prosecutor Gavin and Prosecutor DeBeste... scumbags deserve t' hang."

Apollo shoots a slightly guilty glance at Athena. What's going to happen once they find the culprit and expose their plan to the other alphas? It's imperative that they do it—Klavier and Bastion will be in trouble if they don't—but from what Apollo has heard about werewolf justice...

Not something he can afford to worry about right now. Once they've found and disarmed the enemy, _then_ Apollo can worry about how he's going to stop them from being executed.

 _One problem at a time, Justice._ The voice that he uses to caution and reassure himself sounds like Clay, still, though Clay is currently out of reach. _One problem at a time._

XXX

" _What_ are you doing on my property, you dark-damned _whelp_?"

The woman who stalks across the grass towards them is enormous, her shoulders broader than Klavier's even if she isn't quite as tall. Her lips are pulled back from her teeth in a vicious snarl as she meets his eyes in challenge.

Klavier doesn't look away, though there is a part of him—a part of Gitarre—that considers doing so. She is an alpha, and he is on her property.

She is a _weak_ alpha, he realizes once he meets her eyes, allows her fury to roll over him without touching him. He could _beat_ her, if he needed to. She could not do what Lang did, driving him practically to his knees with barely a thought.

He can see the moment Rex realizes it, a frisson of fear tracing through her scent to turn the air around them acrid and sour. Taking pity on the woman, he flicks his eyes to the left, reaching up to fiddle with his hair as though nothing happened. " _Hallo_ , Rex Stray-saver. I'm sorry to impose on your time and territory, but there's something important I need to talk to you about."

It's a gamble, using that name out of all the ones Navon had provided. Strays—older packless wolves—are considered a danger by most, hunted and hounded. To call Rex a stray-saver, while _true_ , could be seen as an insult—has almost undoubtedly been used as an insult by others.

Klavier doesn't mean it that way, though. Someone who would claw their way to an alpha position in order to take in those who need help is likely proud of the fact, and Klavier has nothing against saving those whose crime is simply not fitting in other places.

Apparently Rex can read that, in his voice or his scent or the way he has stopped challenging her, because though she continues to scowl her stance is less challenging, more relaxed. "Something you couldn't simply call a conclave about?"

" _Ja_." Klavier nods, trying to ensure he keeps his weight evenly balanced. His left hip is burning, a deep, throbbing pain, but it hasn't started bleeding and it won't kill him, so the pain is worth the added impression of confidence and strength that it gives to these interactions. "Someone attempted to kill me yesterday, using silver bullets. We're investigating who—something better done one on one, wouldn't you say, rather than in a snarling group? Especially since the perpetrator may not be an alpha."

Rex's expression has become fixed, rigid, and she gestures toward the grizzled man who had insisted that Klavier and Ema couldn't come any closer to the condominiums that this pack calls home. "Stand down, Less. These two are coming inside to talk to me."

Klavier follows the woman, Ema just a step behind him as they go from bright winter sunlight into the dim interior of the condos. The place is well-kept, as all the dens that they have been invited into today are well-kept. A couch has been positioned just to the left of the door, in the cramped living room, and Rex gestures towards it. "Sit, please."

After a brief pause to consider options Klavier does, settling down with his left leg crossed over his right. It stretches the sensitive scar tissue, but it still feels better having most of his weight off his sore hip. Ema settles in at his side, sitting so that she can easily reach her gun if it becomes necessary.

Allowing his eyes to lose focus, Klavier draws slow, careful breaths into his nose and mouth. Most of what he scents is perfectly reasonable—a half-dozen wolf scents, pizza, _meat_ that makes him almost start drooling, books... _metal_ , with a soft acrid undertone, and he knows the scent from his human life, though it is a thousand times easier to pick up now.

Somewhere in this house there are guns.

"Ema." Klavier smiles at the woman. "Would you be so kind as to get us water? Assuming you're all right with that, Rex?"

After a brief hesitation Rex gestures sharply with her right hand. "Less. Take the female to get some water."

Ema doesn't quite growl. She's not wolf enough to do that yet. But her displeasure at the dismissive way Rex addresses her is obvious. She doesn't make too much of a fuss, though, standing and following Less out of the room.

It will give her a chance to see a little bit more of the condo. Whether she'll find the evidence they'll need, Klavier can't say, but at least she'll see more.

"So." Rex stays standing, the woman's hands flexing into almost-fists at her sides as she looks down at him. It's not quite a threat, but it's definitely a warning, an insistence that he stay in his place if he doesn't want there to be trouble. "You're claiming someone shot you with silver?"

Klavier quirks one eyebrow up. "I'm saying that someone did. I can show you the bullet, if you like. Probably still with my blood on it. Or I could show you the scar I'm going to have where the injury was. If Prosecutor Edgeworth had not been there and knowledgeable about our situation, things could have gone very poorly. As it was... well, the risk of exposure was monumentally high."

Scowling at a point to the left of him, the expression clearly aimed at the situation rather than at him, Rex shakes her head. "And you're suspecting other wolves because there hasn't been much time for others to learn your secret. How do you know it wasn't one of the people your pack told during your Change, night-damned?"

Klavier manages to keep his expression a smile, though he suspects there are more teeth showing than there should be in an actual smile. Even if Navon hadn't warned him yesterday that other wolves would probably call him some variation of night-cursed or night-damned, the general assumption being that a made-wolf turning him would make him dangerous and unpredictable, the way Rex spits the words makes the intention clear. "Three out of the four people we told have been initiated into my pack. Their presence yesterday allowed me to survive; their strength allows me to be here today. The only one who wasn't Changed is a child, and she was refused because of her age, not because we doubted her. Tread carefully in who you accuse."

Points of shame burn high on Rex's cheeks. " _You're_ the one coming in and accusing my people of being involved in something like this."

"We're just trying to get information, not accuse." Klavier keeps his voice quiet, forcing her to listen closely if she wants to catch the words. "Though I will ask you: do you believe any of your people could have had a hand in what was done?"

An acrid scent, a combination of fear and shame and fury, rises to fill the room. A clatter like the stampede of a hundred metal horses echoes in his ears, and chains spring into being, criss-crossing the room between him and Rex to form an impenetrable barrier. Three locks hang from the chains, radiating a sense of _cold_ that almost causes Klavier to shiver.

"My people would never have anything to do with using silver on another wolf." Rex crosses her hands in front of her chest, her expression as cold as one of the locks. "That's all I have to say on the matter."

Klavier's fingers have slipped into his pocket, and they glide smoothly over the slick surface of the magatama. Wright had said that presenting the right evidence would shatter the locks, and once the locks are shattered the person will usually just confess the truth. What evidence to use to prove there could be a connection between Rex's pack and the crime, though? Perhaps if he just keeps talking, he'll find what it is that he needs. "Are any of your people familiar with firearms?"

"No. Of course not. We hunt properly." Rex answers immediately, a sneer in her voice as she gives a contemptuous snort. "We go out as a pack and bring down prey. Guns are toys for children and humans."

"Really?" Klavier arches an eyebrow, drawing a slow, contemplative sniff. "Does someone play with cannon, then, or something else that uses gunpowder? Because I smell gunpowder and metal."

One of the locks shivers, a strange little chittering sound of metal rubbing against metal, and then explodes into shrapnel that disappears before it's moved more than an inch or two. Rex's face somehow pales further, and she paces back and forth across the length of the living room. "That's right. Less learned how to use guns during his time as a stray, and he still has one or two. It doesn't mean that my pack has anything to do with what happened to you."

Maybe not—it is rather circumstantial evidence—but given that Rex is keeping something hidden away behind psyche locks, Klavier doubts that. How to prove that, though?

Ema returns with Less from the kitchen, two glasses of water in hand. She holds one out to Klavier, and he takes it while she settles on the couch next to him.

Taking a dainty sip of water, Ema studies Rex with cold eyes. "There's more to your pack's involvement with guns than just someone having a few. There's a casting pot in the kitchen—a nice one, that looks like it's been used recently."

Klavier hadn't though Rex could pale any further, but she does, her hands clenching into clear fists as she glares at Ema.

Ema doesn't return the woman's glare. She turns her eyes deliberately to Klavier, and reaches into her lab coat to pull out a well-worn tool. Two wooden handles are connected to a heavy metallic end, the wood smooth and smelling of Rex's pack. Klavier sniffs it, drawing the scent into his nose and mouth, though he lowers the tool into his lap when Ema makes a strange little disgruntled sound.

Clicking the cast open, Klavier runs a finger along the metal. Though someone has cared for the cast, cleaning it out, there are still tiny traces of silver caught in the joints of the metal. He knows it's just in his head, that the silver can't hurt him unless it breaks the skin barrier, but his hip seems to throb harder, heat gathering in cresting waves. Holding his fingers to his nose, he inhales the familiar fire-sharp scent. "Nothing to do with what happened, _ja_? Your people create silver bullets for reasons other than shooting night-cursed, then?"

The last lock disintegrates, the chains unwrapping and fading away into smoke. Rex turns a horrified look towards the kitchen and the rangy wolf standing in the hallway there, her mouth opening to growl out a query.

Less' self control shatters along with the chains, and he hurls himself at Klavier, teeth and claws elongating as the Change sweeps over him. A snarl of frenzied rage erupts from Less' throat as he attacks, drowning out Klavier's too-human response as Klavier leaps to his feet with as much grace as he can manage.

Whatever else happens, Klavier is going to make sure Ema walks away from this unharmed.

XXX

Clay works his way half-heartedly through the kitchen of the latest alpha's house, peering into and around everything that he can. How many houses have they been through so far today? Four? Five?

It's frustrating not to be able to touch anything. After being dead for over a month, he should probably be getting used to it, but especially at times like these... how is he supposed to search a place without moving all the clutter that can be used to hide incriminating evidence? If there's correspondence that this Destin Pot fellow doesn't want them to see, Clay will only be able to see it if it's been left on top of everything else. The same with any incriminating weapons or balls of bloody clothes.

Still, at least his looking is _something_. At least it gives him an excuse for being away from Apollo—gives him the illusion of being useful.

 _Stop being maudlin, Terran._ Slapping a hand against the side of his face, Clay slips his way through a closed door and down the basement stairs of the little house that serves as Pots' pack den.

He told Apollo to take one of the charms. He meant what he said about Apollo putting his safety and the safety of his living people over Clay's presence. And it's not like Apollo is actually carrying one of the charms himself. Apollo's even been moving out of the range of the charms so that he can call Clay to each house.

Clay is dead. He's going to stay dead, no matter how much any of them wish otherwise. Keeping people alive has to come as a first priority. If Clay gets lonely enough, maybe it'll help him figure out how to move on and _stop_ being a ghost haunting his best friend and his mentor and all the other people and places he dearly, dearly loved before a knife in the chest ruined _everything_.

 _Head in the game._ Clay draws a breath—not a _real_ breath, of course, being dead and all. It still helps to center and calm him, though, and he tries to focus with grim determination on his search. Apollo showed him pictures of the type of gun they're looking for before they started their little jaunts, and Clay keeps the search image front and center as he begins poking through bedrooms, storerooms, bathrooms, and...

What _is_ this place?

Clay looks around the room, a shiver crawling its way up and down his spine as he surveys the area. There is _malice_ here, a thick miasma that Clay feels like he's swimming through as he forces his way deeper and deeper into the room. There are chains mounted on the wall and set into the floor—chains lined with silver, he realizes as he steps closer. A rifle that Clay is almost certain fits the make and model that he is looking for rests against the wall. A desk is overflowing with papers of all sorts, the top ones covered in diagrams, lengths, and runes.

Runes that are _familiar_ , that look far too much like what Clay saw painted on Klavier's body in dark smoke, and—

"Well, well."

Clay spins around, his non-existent heartbeat seeming to double in speed at the unexpected voice.

Kristoph offers him a thin, unkind smile, the man's arms crossed in front of his chest. "You're not very good at listening, are you, Mr. Terran?"

"Depends on what you mean by listening." Clay stays where he is, about two arm's lengths from Kristoph's ghost. There is nothing Kristoph can do to him, Clay reassures himself repeatedly, though it is hard to remember that in this room that practically _tastes_ of despair. "If you mean listening to the creepy killer who's trying to turn his brother into some kind of slave spirit, then no, I'm not very good at listening."

"You have no idea what I was doing, or why." Kristoph takes a step closer, his voice ice-cold. "You have no idea about a great many things. And neither do your friends. Assuming they _are_ friends."

"Let me guess. Now I'm supposed to say 'what do you mean by that', and then you get to gloat. Right?" Clay rolls his eyes. "Were you a supervillain in a past life or something?"

Kristoph's expression doesn't change. "I think it's valid for me to ask who they paid to keep you away, hm? And I think you're a fool if you don't consider how much do you must _really_ mean to these people if they're going to build walls to separate themselves from you at the first sign of trouble."

"Really?" Clay stares at the other ghost, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "That's _really_ what you're going with? Apollo is my best friend, a man who just about tore himself apart trying to avenge me. You're the murdering bastard who fucked with Apollo and who has proven time and again that he only cares about himself and his own pride. There is nothing you can say that will convince me to side with you over him."

"Apollo is a monster now." Kristoph spreads his hands out to the side, giving a theatrical shrug. It causes another shiver to run up and down Clay's spine, the motion eerily similar to ones he has seen Klavier make, all drama and attention-gathering. "They're _all_ monsters now. But monsters can have their uses."

"Right." Clay gives a little snort and a smile. "Is this the part where I ask you what you can offer me, so that I can consider it in proper angst and drama before choosing Apollo and his pack, like I'll always do? Because I can save us all some time and skip right to the siding with him part."

"You're right about one thing. I _could_ offer you something to side with us. Something I think you'd have a very hard time passing up." Kristoph crosses his arms again, reaching up to toy with the bangs on the left side of his face. It is a nervous tic that Clay has seen from both Apollo and Klavier, and another shiver crawls up and down his spine. No wonder Klavier has so much trouble disassociating himself from his brother, when Kristoph imprints himself so deeply on those who fall into his orbit. "Tell me, Clay, what is it that you'd give to _live_ again? To have a body? To feel? To _touch_? To interact with this world that mocks us, hanging just out of reach?"

He shouldn't respond. He shouldn't even think about it. He should be pushing past Kristoph, trying to get to Apollo, trying to _warn_ him about what Clay has found and what it likely means.

Would it have changed anything, if he could have stopped himself from thinking about the possibility of being alive again? If he had moved instead of freezing?

Kristoph raises a hand, sketches out a quick rune, and black smoke coalesces in the air in front of him. A wind that shouldn't exist blows through the empty room, rustling the papers on the desk.

Some of the papers on the desk begin to _glow_ , a dull, sullen red light that sweeps out to enclose the room.

Panic tries to take hold, but Clay has trained for emergency situations. It wasn't panic that did him in during the space center bombing; it was the Phantom having insane reaction timing and Clay having another unconscious person to protect and watch out for. Turning away from Kristoph, Clay lunges for the nearest wall of the room, hoping to pass through the wall and out into safety.

The red light pulses out, bright and hot, searing his hands and flinging him back into the room.

It _hurts_. It burns in ways that Clay hadn't imagined he could still hurt.

"I warned you, little astronaut." Kristoph's voice is a hoarse, pleased whisper. "I told you there are far worse things that can happen to a person than death."

Something cold and slick, icy viscous slime, oozes along Clay's back. His whole being convulses, attempting to pull him away from the cold, but it follows him, inescapable.

 _Apollo!_ Clay tries to reach for the shining ribbon of thought and caring that always seems to call for him from Apollo. He can sense it, light and warmth, but he can't _reach_ it, an iron wall standing in his way.

 _Klavier._ When Klavier was in trouble, Clay was one of the people he thought of. Perhaps, if Clay is lucky...

Nothing.

 _Starbuck._ Surely his old mentor will think of him, even just the faintest flicker, and though it won't be ideal—

"I'd say stop fighting." Another wave of icy cold washes over Clay, making thinking all but impossible. Kristoph moves into view, reaching out with one foot to toe Clay over onto his back. "But it doesn't matter whether you do or you don't, and honestly, I _like_ seeing the people my traitorous protege cares for suffer. So struggle, please. I'll make sure he knows that you did."

Another pass of Kristoph's fingers through the air, and the whole room seems thick with sickly black smoke.

Ice seems to replace all the warmth that ever was, and Clay screams, a sound of fury and terror as he realizes that there is nothing he can do to escape.

XXX

"I've talked to you." Destin Pot snarls out the words, his lips lifted in a sneer. "You've said nothing of interest. Now get out."

Apollo forces himself not to sneer in return. He thinks he hates this man. Wolf. Alpha. Whatever he wants to call Destin, the man is unpleasant, brusque and aggressive and completely unconcerned with anything outside his own pack. "Whoever did this is a risk to everyone, and—"

"None of my concern." Destin cuts off Apollo, prowling just outside Apollo's personal space. A threat and challenge that Apollo must not respond to, and Apollo tries breathing through his mouth. Maybe if he can't smell Destin's scent so clearly this won't be so difficult. "Get _out_."

Apollo's left wrist stings, and he glances down at his bracelet, his eyes narrowing. Something that Pot said was a lie. "Say that again."

"Are you deaf as well as stupid and damned?" Pot points toward the door, his hand almost touching Apollo's face as he does. "Get. Out."

No tightening of his bracelet, and Apollo smiles thinly. "You said it's none of your concern. Do you really believe that? Can you really say this has nothing to do with you and yours?"

"This is none of my concern." Pot raises his head, his words barely comprehensible through the wolf's growl in them. "My pack has nothing to do with this. I had nothing to do with this."

Apollo's bracelet tightens for all three statements. "You're lying."

Pot smiles, baring his teeth. "Does it matter?"

"You're _admittin'_ to attacking a prosecutor?" Gumshoe has come up behind Apollo, quiet but attentive. "To usin' silver against another wolf?"

It's clear that Pot either hadn't noticed or hadn't thought that Gumshoe mattered, because his lips come down over his teeth and he rocks back. He doesn't step back, though, holding his ground. "I didn't say that, but even if I had, what are you going to do about it? Arrest me?"

"Call an alpha conclave." Apollo smiles thinly. "I've noticed how these things are done."

"Though if that fails to work, we're definitely going to be pressing charges for assault." Widget glows dark red on Athena's chest, Athena's eyes hard with fury.

Perhaps he should have had Athena take Widget off. If the little robot decides to say something unfortunate—

"Good luck with either the conclave or pressing charges." Pot snorts. "I think you'll find that there are other packs who are much more suspicious than me. Other people who—"

 _Hurt_.

Apollo gasps, clutching his right arm to his chest as pain stabs through him, tearing, slashing. Someone in the pack has been _hurt_ , their skin torn, their bones creaking, and—

 _Fire._

It isn't the same person. Apollo doesn't know how he knows, but he does. Two of his pack members are under attack, and the wolf in front of him has been taunting him about just that possibility. A snarl of rage tears itself from his throat as he catapults forward, fingers shifting into claws, teeth and jaw elongating to give him a better bite.

Pot begins shifting as soon as Apollo does, meeting Apollo's charge. A howl slithers out of the alpha's throat, deep and resonant, and Apollo hears others answering.

Hears _children_ answering, their voices higher-pitched, terrified, and it causes him to pause.

Athena grabs hold of his arms, hauling him backward with a strength that he wouldn't have expected. Her voice pierces through the rest of the cacophony in the house. " _Apollo! Stop!_ "

Apollo reaches for his human form, for human vocal cords, needing to answer her. "They're _hurt_. Klavier—Clay—"

"I _know_." Athena's face is pale, her scent thick with tension and fear. "I feel it, too. So let's _help_ them. Which means getting out of here. Okay?"

"But—" Apollo's words fail him, a whimpering growl rising up instead. He _has_ to act. He _has_ to protect his people.

Others have gathered around Destin, two adults and two children. One is a girl who can't be more than five years old, squirming her way out of a sun dress as she stares terrified daggers at Apollo... as she places herself between Apollo and Destin.

Apollo slumps back against Athena. He _could_ fight. He meets Pot's eyes, baring his teeth again, letting Pot see exactly how this _could_ go. Apollo could beat him. Apollo could _take_ what he wants, rip the pack from Destin's control.

Tear a little girl apart, mind and body, to get at the man she loves who isn't worthy of that affection.

"Everyone stay right where you are." Gumshoe's voice rumbles out over the tense gathering, and Apollo can smell gunpowder, hear the tiny clicks as Gumshoe releases the safety on his revolver.

A gentle tug on his arm from Athena, and Apollo allows her to guide him backwards toward the door. He never breaks eye contact with Pot as he does, letting the man know that this isn't over—that Apollo isn't _surrendering_ , he's just trying to do this in a civilized manner.

Once they're outside Apollo breaks away from Athena's grip, sprinting as fast as his legs will carry him. Klavier is too far away for him to reach in time, but Clay—if he can get out of the range of the amulets and call Clay—

Athena and Gumshoe don't follow him, retreating to the car, though he can feel the weight of their attention like a physical presence. His arm _throbs_ and his thigh _aches_ and all of his skin is on _fire_ , but he can help make it better. All he needs to do is get far enough away and—

Abruptly half the pain disappears, only his arm and his thigh hurting.

 _Clay's_ pain disappears.

" _Clay!_ " Apollo howls out the name, looking around wildly, though he doesn't know where Clay was or what could hurt a ghost or what the _lack_ of pain means.

Has an _idea_ of what it could mean, but it _can't_ be true. Clay can't be gone. _Really_ gone, not just dead but _destroyed_ , and the other ghosts had _warned_ them but they hadn't _listened_.

"Clay Clay Clay." Apollo turns all of his focus on the astronaut, keeping enough wolf-power behind his eyes for him to see ghosts. The full change tugs at his control, the wolf wanting to leap forward, to charge after Clay, to run to wherever Klavier is, but Apollo knows neither action is helpful. "Come on, Clay. Come _on_."

Apollo doesn't know exactly how Clay's ghost-teleporting works. He knows that Clay can move to anyone who is thinking about him, but does it help when someone is focused, like Apollo is focused? Is there any way to _force_ Clay to his side? Can he—

Movement just outside the front door catches Apollo's eyes, and he spins around, lips already pulled back in a snarl. If Pot thinks that he can intimidate Apollo—

It isn't Pot, though. For a disconcerting moment Apollo thinks it is Klavier, blond hair and blue eyes calling up the most familiar—the most _desired—_ image. It is a strange reversal of the first few times Apollo met Klavier, when he would see the prosecutor and immediately think it was Kristoph standing there before better sense caught up to him.

Then Apollo's wolf-dimmed vision gives him more details, a blue suit, the glint of glasses in sunlight even though the man— _ghost—_ is standing in shadow, and Apollo knows who it is standing there.

Kristoph raises his right hand, gives a small, contained wave as he smiles at Apollo. His voice seems to carry unnaturally, covering the distance from the doorway to the car to Apollo's ear without sounding as though Kristoph is shouting. "Good to see you again, my traitorous protege. I hope you don't mind that I've taken care of a little tag-along for you."

Apollo takes a step towards the door, his throat too tight with the wolf's lightning for him to speak.

"Tell my brother I'm enjoying this little game." Kristoph smiles, the soft, demure expression that Apollo spent hours trying to imitate once upon a time. "Though I'm sure I'll be seeing you both around. I do so _enjoy_ getting my revenge on the people who betrayed me, after all."

And just like that he's gone. No more gloating. No more information.

As Apollo sprints towards the house, Kristoph's ghost vanishes, leaving behind nothing but a whiff of icy wind.

Apollo takes another long, slow look around, his heart seeming to beat Clay's name inside his chest.

Then he throws back his head and howls, a sound of desolation and impotent rage, until Athena gathers him into her arms and tugs him back toward the car.


	9. Chapter 9: Divided

**Author's Note:** There probably won't be a chapter posted next week. My grandmother passed away, and between the funeral and a convention the following weekend I doubt I'm going to have time to edit and post it for next Friday. My apologies. Updates should continue as normal after that.

 _ **Chapter Nine: Divided**_

Sebastian gingerly turns the page in the thick, musty-smelling book that Ms. Fey had thumped down on the table between him and Trucy several hours ago.

He feels... strange. He should be at work now, he thinks, glancing up at the clock for what's probably the five thousandth time. He should be preparing to go to court tomorrow. Failing that, he should be out with Klavier, attempting to get to the bottom of this whole attack. His body is aching, though, a faint burning in all of his joints that has been increasing in severity since Ms. Cykes and the others left, and Klavier had been insistent that Sebastian stay and rest.

Which means that instead of helping them Sebastian is sitting in the kitchen with the grown-up version of a girl he used to babysit while the two Fey women get a bit of sleep. Doing something _important_ , Sebastian reassures himself—something that could very likely have dramatic implications for all of them—but still, it feels a bit too much like shirking.

"Well?" Trucy looks up at him expectantly, having finished scrawling her notes for the Hierophant bloodline down. "Who's next?"

"After our catastrophic—no, _kleptomaniac_ collectors of people and objects, we have the Lovers bloodline." Sebastian hastily scans his eyes down the page, turning the book so that the picture used for this bloodline is a little less accessible to Trucy's line of sight. He can feel his face go hot as he reads the warnings about how those of the Lovers bloodline can take or give life-force, usually through acts that he _really_ doesn't want to describe to Prosecutor Edgeworth's semi-daughter. "Ah... do you know what a succubus or an incubus is, Trucy?"

"Of course not." Trucy dons an exceptionally innocent smile.

Sebastian eyes the young woman, then gives a small smile of his own. "Well, that's what the book says. _Succubus_ is spelled s-u-c-c-u-b-u-s, and incubus is i-n-c-u-b-u-s."

Trucy dutifully writes down the words. "What does that mean, Sebastian? Is there anything I shouldn't do with someone of the Lovers bloodline?"

Sebastian can't quite suppress a snort of laughter at the blatant overplaying of her hand. "You can ask your father or the chief prosecutor about it, I'm sure."

"Or the internet." Trucy's smile is all innocence still as she looks up at him, though Sebastian can see the twinkle in her eyes. "I'm sure I can find a lot of definitions on the Internet without having to bother either of them."

"You already have a bloodline. Justice, remember?" Not that Sebastian thinks she's forgotten—he imagines it's rather hard to forget that one isn't entirely normal. To forget, for instance, that one has been turned into a werewolf. "That means you shouldn't be thinking of mingling—mixing—with any other bloodlines, anyway."

"Mingling and mixing would both work in that sentence." Trucy's tone doesn't change as she comments on his word choice, her pen doodling small designs at the edge of the page.

A tree begins to take shape, circles that may be apples appearing on it, and Sebastian flips back a page in the Fey volume, peeking at the elaborate drawing that accompanies the Lovers title. Yes, there's a tree there, behind the very naked couple in the foreground. "Are you familiar with the tarot already, Trucy?"

"Just a little bit." Trucy shrugs. "I've studied just about everything related to magic. Other than not sleeping with the Lovers, what does it say?"

Sebastian continues to scan down the cramped handwriting, in multiple pens, trying to summarize the important information. "That the Lovers bloodline is all about bonds. That _can_ be sexual—see also the incubus and succubus part—but it doesn't have to be. That Lovers can help form and strengthen any kind of bonds, familial, friendship, work... pack." Sebastian sits up a bit straighter in his seat, though he slumps when he sees that there's nothing following that key word, the handwriting switching to someone else's. "That those of the Lovers bloodline can sometimes seem to mirror the Judgment one, their moral beliefs and values tending to spill over onto everyone connected to them. Judgment is the stronger bloodline there, though—we'll have to cross-reference these two later. Also that someone with a Lovers bloodline, once they make a moral choice, is hard to sway from it. Well, that's literally _anyone_. No one likes thinking they made the wrong decision about something important."

"True." Trucy is dutifully scribbling down information. "Anything more about the pack thing? Or about mixing Lovers with another bloodline?"

"Like most of the other bloodlines, it says not to mix it with the High Priestess. Or another bloodline with a heavy mental component, except Judgment, apparently Lovers and Judgment can mix all right. And it seems like _everyone_ can interbreed with the Sun." Sebastian realizes a moment too late that he just said the word _interbreed_ to Edgeworth's child. "I mean, the Sun bloodline tends not to have delirious side effects when mixed with Lovers."

"Detrimental. Or delitirious." Once more Trucy makes the correction in the calm, cool voice she used when he babysat her as a child—the voice she uses when Edgeworth is having a PTSD flashback. "Interesting. Do you think we should do Judgment next, or keep going in order?"

"Keep going in order." Sebastian gingerly turns the pages again. "Otherwise we'll get—"

The pain is like a sledgehammer, dropping him out of the chair and onto the floor before he knows what's going on. His leg hurts, his arm hurts, his whole _body_ hurts.

He is on _fire_. He did something wrong, and he is hurting because of it, and he has to be strong. He has to show his father that he's not a weakling, that he's not useless.

"Mr. DeBeste! Sebastian!" Trucy's voice seems to come from far away.

Forcing himself to open his eyes, to grit his teeth against the pain—pain that seems to flare up from all his joints now, his whole body burning along with his skin, and he must have been _very_ bad—Sebastian tries to bring the girl into focus. "I'm fine. I understand."

"Sebastian?" Trucy reaches out to him, though she snatches her hand back almost immediately. "Are you... what happened?"

"Nothing." Sebastian manages a smile as he forces shaking legs to support him. "I'm the best, of course. The perfect prosecutor. Absolutely—"

Fire flares through his head, trickles across his thoughts, and Sebastian raises his hands to press against his temples, whimpering as tears flood his eyes. What is _happening_? What did he _do_? How does he make the pain—the _fire—stop_?

"Polly, come on, come _on—_ " Trucy has retreated a half-dozen steps, pressing herself up against the wall. " _No_ , stupid voicemail—Klavier, please please please— _fuck_ , what's the point of you all having cell phones if none of you _answer—_ Sebastian, you're going to be all right, I promise, I'm going to find one of the others and— _yes_ , thank you, Polly, I need your help right _now_ , something's happening with Sebastian—"

A brief moment of silence, and then Trucy is making her slow way toward him, the phone held out in front of her. "Sebastian, will you talk to Apollo for a minute? Or Athena? They should be able to help you, I think."

Sebastian reaches out with trembling fingers to take the phone, raising it his ear after only one failed attempt. "DeBeste here."

There is a lot of static over the phone, crackling, snapping sounds that make Sebastian suspect it's on speaker phone. That's confirmed a moment later when three voices try to answer at once.

"Sebastian, sir, everything's all right—"

"Mr. DeBeste, whatever you felt through the pack bonds—"

"You're going to be all right, Sebastian—"

A brief pause, and Sebastian blinks, trying to sort out who was saying what and exactly what their words mean. The pain seems to have _shifted_ , settling down into an uncomfortable fiery glow at all his joints, his arm and leg throbbing in time with his heart.

A woman's voice takes over, her words crisp and clear. "This is Athena. Can you tell me what's happening, Sebastian?"

"I..." Sebastian blinks, looking around the kitchen. "It... hurt. My arm. My leg. My whole _body_. Like I was on fire. It _still_ hurts. It _burns—_ "

His voice cracks upward, and Sebastian forces himself to stop speaking. Speaking at times like this is _dangerous_ , and—

"It's not real fire, sir." Gumshoe's voice is far too loud for the first few words, settling down to a more reasonable volume after that. "I promise. Sometimes the wolf'll make your joints kind of ache, like really really nasty arthritis, but it's just the transformation happenin'."

"The pain you felt was referred. From Klavier—he must've gotten into a fight with someone—and from Clay." Apollo's voice bleeds anger, and Sebastian finds himself shrinking away from the phone. "Something happened to Clay. We're going to make sure Klavier and Ema are all right and then come back to the house to figure out what we can do to help him. Are you going to be all right until then?"

Sebastian sits down on the floor, his legs not seeming to want to hold him upright. His head buries itself against his knees without his meaning to, and a whimper works its way out of his throat.

Klavier is hurt and one of their pack is missing and their alpha is _furious_ and Sebastian _hurts_ and half the thoughts running through his head don't make _sense_ and—

"Sebastian!" Athena's voice cuts through the cacophony filling his head. "It's going to be all right. Transforming too quickly is _hard_ , Klavier will sympathize with you about it so much when he gets back, but you can do it. You can make peace with the wolf."

"You can be _fine_ , just like Klavier was fine." Some of the anger has drained from Apollo's voice, concern and a little bit of guilt taking its place.

"If _I_ can do this, sir, you can _definitely_ do this." There is nothing but encouragement and respect in Gumshoe's tone.

Drawing a deep breath, Sebastian closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. He can do this. Klavier made it through this—Klavier made it through something much _worse_ than this.

His father is dead and no one is _trying_ to hurt him and Sebastian needs to stop being a _distraction_ , because Klavier's in danger _now_ , and the others should be focusing on that rather than Sebastian.

"I'm... all right." Sebastian raises his head off his knees, blinking until Trucy's worried face comes into focus. The young woman has settled on her haunches in front of him, out of easy lunging range but obviously deeply concerned. "I'll be fine. Thank you. For helping."

"No problem." Athena's voice is warm, kind.

"You just rest, sir." Gumshoe speaks with firm conviction. "We'll be back before you know it."

"Just... make sure Klavier's all right. Please." Sebastian swallows, closing his eyes and breathing again. He needs to be calm and collected. "Good luck, and I'll talk to you later."

Hanging up, Sebastian holds out the phone to Trucy. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

Making a little negation sound in the back of her throat, Trucy shakes her head and smiles. "No need to be sorry. I just wish I could do more to help with the wolf-stuff. Are things better now? Really?"

"Better." Sebastian makes his way slowly to his feet, using the chair as a prop, having to stop every few seconds. "I hurt, but I think it's... normal hurt. And I can think again, which... is good."

"Uh huh." Trucy gives a vigorous nod, reaching out slowly to give him some support. "Tell me if there's anything I can do to help. Talking, not talking; playing music, not playing music—I've got a big Gavinners collection if you like Klavier's music; touching, not touching. I'm sorry I'm not actually pack and can't help properly."

"What?" Sebastian blinks at the young woman, the scent of frustration suddenly thick in the air around them, peppery and dank. "No, Trucy, you're fine. You helped so much. _I'm_ sorry I'm no use right now."

"You're just Sebastian." Trucy pats him on the shoulder. "It's fine."

Before Sebastian can decide if he's being complimented or insulted the doorbell rings.

Trucy dashes off immediately; Sebastian follows at a determined limp. Who knew hips could _hurt_ like this, every motion feeling like red-hot spikes are gliding against his bones?

Putting her face to the little window by the door, Trucy gives a high-pitched yelp of excitement and throws it open. "Mister Agent!"

Lang reaches up to pull off his sunglasses, a smile curling across his face. "Hi there, Trucy. Didn't expect to run into you first off."

Trucy ushers the Interpol agent into the house, closing and locking the door behind her. "The pack's out dealing with our little problems, so I'm watching out for Sebastian, since he's going to change really quick like Klavier did. Aunt Maya and Pearl are also here, but they're sleeping because they were up all night dealing with ghosts."

"Leaving Mister Prosecutor and your dad to actually run the legal system. Makes sense." Lang hangs his glasses off his vest, turning his sharp eyes to Sebastian. "You look like hell, pup."

"Thank you, sir." Sebastian crosses his arms in front of his chest. "You look splendid yourself."

Lang looks _exhausted_ , rumpled clothes and dark circles under his eyes making it obvious to everyone that he's been up for far too long.

Giving a more rueful smile, Lang shrugs, dropping his pack to the floor as he does. "Figured the sooner I got here the less likely things were to explode. Especially with a bloodline like Justice running around... well, things can get dicey."

"It's certainly been interesting." Sebastian reaches out to rub at the back of his neck, trying to massage away the burning ache there. "I don't know exactly what's going on, but apparently both Klavier and Clay have run into trouble. The feedback was... unpleasant to deal with."

"Feedback?" Lang crosses his arms in front of his chest. "What do you mean?"

"I... could feel it?" Sebastian doesn't like the way Lang is looking at him, eyes narrowed, expression troubled. (He doesn't like what he can _smell_ , the sour tang of anxious sweat suddenly touching the air, but that is harder to parse and so he attempts to ignore it.) "So could the others who are going to be pack—Ema and Athena and Gumshoe. They... seem to be handling it a little bit better."

"Huh. That's... huh." Lang scratches at his chin.

"What's huh about it?" Trucy pulls on Lang's sleeve.

"Welllll..." Lang shrugs. "It just... no one who's not completely Changed yet is supposed to be involved in the pack bonds. It's... weird. But weird's what you've got to expect when you've got mixed bloodlines, I guess. Though this... Justice shouldn't be affecting the pack bonds like that."

"Oh." Sebastian closes his eyes, sighing. "Wait... does that mean... you're saying someone _else_ has a mixed bloodline?"

Lang shrugs, picking up his bag again. "Let's go catch each other up and see if we can figure that out, all right?"

XXX

Teeth dig into his arm, claws latch into his shoulder, and Klavier snarls out a furious negation at the wolf attacking him.

He wants to Change. He wants to Change so badly he can _taste_ it, electricity dancing on his tongue, trying to gather in his joints—burning in his hip, and he isn't _supposed_ to transform if he can possibly avoid it.

He may well be crippled by pain if he attempts to transform, and that won't help keep this beast away from Ema. _That_ is the most important thing, he has to remember, and he twists on the ground, good arm latching onto the loose skin between the wolf's shoulder blades and hauling with all his might.

He is more dominant than this wolf—he can challenge this wolf's alpha, if need be—and it will be over his dead body that Ema is threatened or injured by it.

He can feel it when the others' attention snaps to him—feel Gumshoe, sturdy and sure, an immovable wall of strength; feel Apollo, sharp and determined, fire of a different sort, to burn and cleanse a world that desperately needs it; feel Athena, a steady brightness, energetic and eager; feel Sebastian, scared and hurt, and Klavier almost loses his concentration in his need to _protect_.

Except he feels _Ema_ , close, super-nova explosions of emotion. He smells her fear, her _anger_ , her adrenaline—her _intention_ , and he works with it, lifting the wolf at the moment she pulls the trigger, so the bullet slices cleanly through both of his attacker's thighs.

Less yelps and whimpers, immediately disengaging from Klavier and crawling toward his alpha, leaving a blood trail in his wake.

Klavier staggers to his feet, his teeth bared, locking eyes with Rex. If she attempts to attack him, too, to challenge him—

She drops to the floor, grabs Less by the scruff and drags him behind her. Her voice is a low rumble in her chest, her eyes staying stubbornly to the side of Klavier's, avoiding direct conflict. " _Peace_ , night-cursed. I've no intention of attacking you."

Klavier tries to speak and finds that his tongue doesn't want to form the human words, pain flaring hotter and brighter in his hip as he struggles to maintain his humanity.

"You _already_ attacked us." Ema is suddenly at his side, a hand reaching out to touch his uninjured shoulder. "Plus your pack is clearly involved in yesterday's attempted assassination. Give me one good reason I shouldn't put a bullet through your head."

"Because you're still human, and a human involved in the police force." Rex's eyes _do_ meet Ema's, but just for a moment, flicking away as soon as Ema's spine straightens. "And because if you kill us, you won't get answers. I swear to you by the Lady and my pack and my position as alpha that I had no knowledge of what Less did. For a wolf to perform an action like this without the say of his alpha..."

The bloody wolf whimpers, his ears flat to his skull, his tail tucked as far as it will go, and attempts to show his belly despite his injuries.

Rex swallows, her attention returning to Klavier. "Call a meeting of the alphas. Set it for tomorrow morning—it will give me long enough to ensure Less will heal, but not long enough for you to have to worry about us leaving, which I give you my word we won't. We'll hear the truth of what happened from Less, then, and see what justice—"

Klavier's cell phone rings—Trucy's ring tone, and Klavier _wants_ to answer it but knows that he can't, not when negotiating with this alpha. Silencing the ringtone, Klavier tries to send Sebastian a sense of reassurance and comfort, not knowing if it actually works. Running his tongue over his lips, Klavier imagines the shape of the English words he will need, wanting to speak clearly. "Given all that's happened, why should I trust your word?"

Rex's chin comes up. "An alpha's word is law—for the pack and for the alpha themselves. An alpha who doesn't keep their word will be shunned or put down."

"You speak so casually of murder." Klavier's lip curls upward in a brief snarl.

"We are what we are." Rex doesn't lower her head, and there is no apology in her tone. "We protect ourselves and our people. Would you rather an untrustworthy alpha be left loose, to injure and hurt others? An alpha can _compel_ , if they are strong enough. Would you let someone with that power and a lack of morals loose to prey on others—others it is our job to _protect_?"

Klavier frowns, considering the question for a moment before shoving it away as a distraction. "Tomorrow morning, then, if my alpha agrees."

"We'll go call him now." Ema still has her gun ready, the weapon held firmly in her left hand as with her right she prods Klavier towards the door. "If he agrees to it, we'll give you a call to arrange time and location."

Others from Rex's pack have gathered, though all stay behind Rex, watching Klavier and Ema as they make their way towards the door.

Only when they're situated in their car does Ema shove her gun back into its holster, reaching across from the driver's side to begin prodding at Klavier's arm. "Get your jacket and shirt off."

"Why, _fraulein_." Klavier smiles, using the expression to hide a grimace as he begins following instructions. Now that the Change has subsided and his leg hurts less, his shoulder is throbbing badly. "I had given up on ever hearing those words from you."

"Gavin. Don't make me shoot you." Ema's voice holds a warning note, exasperation thick in it, but it is relief Klavier smells from her— _feels_ from her, not as intensely as he had when he drew on the pack's strength but definitely _present_. "Your shoulder actually... huh."

Klavier looks down at the bruised, bloody skin. It doesn't look _pretty_ , but it also doesn't look nearly as bad as it _should_ , given how savagely Less had attacked. "Interesting. Didn't our good friend Navon say that I would heal more slowly than usual due to the silver?"

Ema sighs, reaching into the back seat and pulling out a first aid kit. Slathering antibiotic ointment onto the wounds, she begins wrapping a bandage around them. "You know it's _very_ hard to get appropriate data on werewolves when our pack continues to behave _unusually_ about every little thing."

Klavier pokes at the bottom edge of the wrap. " _Verzeihung_ , Detective. I will endeavor to bleed more heavily in the future if it will—"

Ema's phone begins ringing, and she picks it up and shoves it between her shoulder and her ear, barely missing a beat on her bandaging. "Hey, Justice. Don't worry, he's relatively fine and we found something usef—hey, speak a little slower, what do you _mean_ something's happened with Clay?"

The words are like an electric jolt to his spine, causing Klavier to straighten. What kind of creatures could threaten a ghost? "Something has happened with Mr. Terran?"

Ema finishes her bandaging job and holds up a finger. "All right, Apollo. I understand. Definitely sounds like that guy's up to no good. Like I said, though, we _also_ found something—one of Rex's pack was casting silver bullets, _very_ recently. When we proved it, one of her wolves attacked us. Yeah, Klavier got his shoulder bit up, but it's healing incredibly fast. She suggested we call an alpha conclave, and I second the idea. Let's draw everyone into the open and see how the pieces fit together. Now that we've at least got the outline of the puzzle, I think we'll stand a better chance that way then challenging alphas in their dens."

Ema listens intently and then nods. "All right. See you at Edgeworth's place."

Flipping the phone closed, Ema gestures from Klavier to his torn shirt. "Suit up. We're doing the conclave tomorrow, and as soon as we tell Rex we're going to rendezvous with everyone and do what we can to rescue Clay. Assuming there still is a Clay to rescue."

Klavier slides his shirt back on. "What happened?"

Ema hesitates for a moment before sighing. "Your brother. Kristoph did something that hurt Clay and is keeping him from going to Apollo, and gloated about it."

A cold feeling settles into the center of Klavier's chest, a mixture of fury and guilt and trepidation and _surprise_ , still, _always_ , that his brother is the kind of man who could do this. "Get ready to drive fast, _fraulein_. Whatever happens next, I want to be there."

XXX

Clay regains consciousness in what looks like a pleasant reading room.

Assuming ghosts _can_ regain consciousness, but Clay doesn't know how else to make sense of what happened. He was in the basement room with Kristoph and the runes; Kristoph did something that _hurt_ ; and now, without any sense of intervening time, Clay is here.

"Right. Great." Clay forces himself into a sitting position, his whole... can he say his body? His body is buried in a hole at the cemetery. He watched it being interred. Well, whatever he is currently made of, it _aches_ , and it doesn't want to stand. "Come on, Terran. You're already dead. It doesn't _really_ hurt, so just get up and get out there."

Except... maybe he doesn't need to stand up. Depending on how long he's been out of communication, Apollo's almost certainly noticed he's missing, so if he just concentrates on Apollo—

Bright light flares around him, an impenetrable semi-circle, and flames seem to lick across his skin again. A shout—of pain, of anger, of dismay—works its way out of his throat before Clay can think better of it.

"I would suggest against doing that." A soft female voice comes from somewhere outside the circle of light, and Clay squints, trying to make out the speaker. "It would be a shame if you destroyed yourself."

"I agree wholeheartedly with that statement." Clay shifts to a cross-legged position in the center of the circle, studying the ground as the red glow fades. A series of runes, very similar to the ones he saw at Pot's house, are drawn on the floor, some kind of complicated diagram that completely surrounds and encompasses Clay.

"I wouldn't reach out to touch the barrier, either." The woman doesn't look up from what she's doing—reading, Clay realizes. She's hunched over a desk, multiple layers of clothes in various shades of brown and black making her blend in with the furniture and the carpet. "Trying to walk out will cause the same effect as trying to 'port out."

"Port out." Clay nods, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "Port as in the liquor, which I would be very fine getting a glass of, or port as in any one will do in a storm?"

"'Port as in _teleport_ , obviously." The woman's tone is exasperated as she finally raises her head from the book, turning to study Clay. "Though... it's actually not a half-bad analogy for how ghosts interact with the grieving. The grief-stricken provide a _port_ for you, somewhere you can go to evade anything you need to... I shall have to write that down and think on it more."

She proceeds to do just that, pulling a notebook from the folds of her—is she wearing a cloak? A cape? Possibly both. Also a dress, and an apron, and... Clay blinks, trying to decide if his warden is an escapee from a fantasy series, a Renaissance fair, or an insane asylum.

"I'm not your keeper, by the way." The woman snaps the book closed, her sharp green eyes turning to face him squarely. "I just happen to like this room—it's where most of the important things like the books are kept—and since I can see you, they want me to make sure you don't do anything stupid. The Devil and Death are your keepers."

"Ouch. That seems a little harsh and insensitive." Clay puts a hand to his heart, keeping his form the _living_ version of Clay Terran by the skin of his teeth. (He's trapped. He's trapped and alone in the enemy's lair, where _they_ know how to hurt _him_ and he has no idea what he can do that's useful. Panicking won't help anyone, though, and the more information he can get from this woman, the better.) "Maybe I _like_ being dead. Maybe I was secretly ready to be done with this whole thing."

"No." The woman sounds bored now, turning back to her book. "If you were, you wouldn't be here. Those who were ready to die move on; it's those who weren't that linger. The angry, the hurt, the frightened, the lovers—those are your peers, ghost. Not the calm and the prepared. But you misunderstood my statement in the first place."

Clay frowns, trying to figure out what she might mean, and then sighs. "Oh, you mean death and the devil as in the whole tarot-card thing, don't you?"

"I mean Death and Devil as in the bloodlines, but think of it however you wish." The woman turns a page, her head creeping down closer and closer to her book.

"I... don't suppose you'd want to explain it to me a little bit more?" It's a pretty poor attempt at espionage, but it's all Clay has in him at the moment.

A third voice comes from in front of one of the bookshelves, and Clay turns to see that Kristoph Gavin has decided to join the party. "Now why would she want to do that, Mr. Terran?"

"I don't know." Clay shrugs. "Maybe she's bored and would like some actual intelligent conversation."

Kristoph's lips twist into a smile that is clearly a threat. "If she wishes for that, she can acquire it anywhere on the premises."

"If she wished for that, she probably wouldn't be trying to read." The woman snaps her book closed, turning to glare at the two of them. "Honestly, why the heavens decided to gift _us_ with the ability to see the dead, I have no idea. All you want to do is talk and talk and _talk_ , and it gets to be quite infuriating. If someone surrounds themselves with books, do you think they want to talk all day long, hm?"

"They might." Clay raises his hands in a faint shrug. "Maybe they really like reading to people. Or maybe the books are all part of their field of study. Or—"

"Feel free to ignore Mr. Terran." Kristoph cuts Clay's rambling short. "He's speaking out of fear and a desperate hope to gain information. Even if you do manage to learn anything, Terran, you won't be able to _do_ much with the knowledge."

Clay glares up at Kristoph. If he were alive, he knows his heart would be pounding in his chest; as he is, he has to content himself with a core that seems to smolder with his fury and hatred of this man. "Because you've done so much with your power and knowledge. Oh, wait, no, you didn't. All you did when you were alive was betray people who respected you and then slit your own throat like a frightened bird in a trap." That metaphor is almost certainly mixed, but Clay just plunges on, not wanting to give Kristoph a chance to speak before he's done. "What, was poison too good for you? Had to keep making things as messy as possible for Apollo and your brother? Or did they just decide to take your toys away once they realized what they were, and you didn't have any other options?"

Kristoph continues to smile throughout Clay's diatribe, though the smile becomes sharper, more teeth showing with every sentence that tumbles from Clay's mouth. When he finally speaks, after Clay has paused for a breath he no longer needs, Kristoph's tone is far too quiet. "Are you quite done?"

"Insulting you and telling you what a revolting excuse for a human being you are? No." Clay grins, though his body shrinks in on its central axis, self-preservation instincts screaming at him that he's being foolish. Screw self-preservation, though. He's already dead, and if he's going to let Kristoph intimidate and control him he might as well throw himself at the runes until they burn him away. "There isn't enough time before the heat death of the universe to really explain exactly how foolish, stupid, selfish, arrogant, ignorant, _imbecilic_ —"

Kristoph's hand lashes out, sketching runes that burn black in the air.

Clay flinches back. He can't help it, though he hates that he does it, hates that he's _afraid_ again, as he was afraid when he died, and—

It _hurts_ , it isn't supposed to _hurt_ anymore, it's not _fair_ that the runes that keep him prisoner don't protect him, and—

" _Gavin._ " The woman stands from her seat in one smooth motion, whipping the hood off her head. There is the faintest trace of silver touching her temples, soft wrinkles starting around her eyes—eyes that glow bright gold as she reaches out a hand toward Kristoph. "Come here, boy."

Kristoph's ghost vanishes, appearing kneeling next to the woman. His palms seem glued to the floor, fury contorting his features as he looks up at his captor.

"If you don't want to be treated like a beast, to be found and tamed, don't act like one." The woman arches her left eyebrow. "Understood?"

Kristoph's teeth show briefly, and Clay wonders if he's going to attack this person who is clearly supposed to be his ally. Then the calm, civilized mask slides back into place, and Kristoph inclines his head. "Of course. My apologies, Hermit. I forgot myself."

"Clearly. But I suppose it's all one can expect from the dead. You are such bundles of wild emotion." The woman's voice is more contemplative than angry as she stares down at Kristoph. "Don't forget our bargain, though."

Kristoph's head drops even further, looking like a gesture of actual _respect_. "I haven't. Your goals are my goals."

"Then I'll release you and you'll go about your business, leaving our prisoner until Chariot can come do their work. Understand?" The woman arches the same eyebrow.

Clay can see Kristoph's teeth grinding together, but Kristoph's head still moves in a brief nod.

Snapping her fingers, the woman evidently undoes whatever spell she had cast, the glow in her eyes fading away to the faintest glimmer that Clay could mistake for reflected starlight.

Kristoph vanishes, and Clay heaves a sigh of relief.

The woman moves over to the edge of the rune diagram, studying Clay. "Are you all right?"

"I'm still here." Clay wiggles his fingers. "Still able to manifest all body parts, it seems."

Her lips curl up into a faint, tired smile. "Still just as quick-tongued as before. Good."

"Why good?" Clay crosses his toes inside his shoes, hoping against hope that the woman will keep speaking now that she's been pulled away from her work.

"Good because I don't like seeing souls destroyed, or even badly damaged." The woman kneels down, her hands hanging between her knees. "And he _will_ destroy you, if given the opportunity. He hates his brother and his former protege, and will do anything he can to see them hurt."

"Yeah, he's kind of a bastard like that. Which means that maybe, possibly, people who aren't similarly bastards shouldn't work with him?" Clay tries on his most ingratiating smile.

The woman gives a little snort and shakes her head. "Ghosts are useful. Unless the Moon or the High Priestess or the Hermits are around, they're the perfect invisible spies."

"Yes, but I'm really quite certain you can find ghosts that _aren't_ those of sociopathic murderers." Clay points at himself. "Present company, for example."

Nodding, the woman crosses her arms in front of her chest. "And if I were to ask you to spy on Justice's pack, what would your response be?"

Clay crosses his toes again, this time because he's going to tell a blatant lie. "It would depend on the reason you gave me for spying on them and what you decided to offer me."

"I think nothing we could offer you would break your loyalty to your friend and his pack." There's a certain sad fondness to the woman's voice as she shakes her head. "Though the reason is a good one. We are to welcome God into the world, to prepare it for the cleansing touch, so that it can be reborn whole and hale."

"Wow." The word slips out before Clay thinks better of it, both his eyebrows arching up. "I mean... uh... that's super interesting."

"You don't believe, of course. You were Sun before your death, and Sun believes in little that can't be touched with their own hands, and knows less of the bloodlines than those who purport to love information should." Propping her chin on one fist, the woman smiles at Clay. "But it's true. Every few millennia God walks the world wrapped in flesh, integrating improvements into it one change at a time. I am deeply honored to be privileged to see it."

"Are we talking God as in, like... Jesus?" Clay tries not to sound skeptical, to sound as though he's just asking for clarification.

"We are speaking of the ones who change the world. For whom reality is a loom and their will the weft." The woman tilts her head to the right. "If I had to guess, I would say that Jesus was a Magician—someone who can work one miracle in one place. A very effective one. I could be wrong, though. It was a very long time ago. Perhaps they truly were the World, too."

Clay can _hear_ the capital letter this time. "The World. That's... the last card of the tarot, right?"

"The bloodline made from all the others. The one that cannot be bred—the one whose attempted breeding has resulted in only death and despair over the years. The one who must arise spontaneously, bloodlines crossing and diluting until a surviving child holds the very fabric of _existence_ in their hands." The woman's voice falls to a soft whisper, her eyes bright and blazing as her fingers sketch patterns in the air that Clay can't quite follow. "What is a god without followers, though? Without worshipers to guide and strengthen them?"

"Which is where you come in." Clay's right hand rests in front of his mouth for a moment, his fingers drumming against his cheek as he considers the information the woman gave him—tries not to consider _why_ she has given it to him. "That doesn't explain why you're working with Kristoph, though. I very much doubt he cares about anyone's power but his own."

"He doesn't. But he is easily manipulated." The woman shrugs, her hands clasping and settling into her lap. "What he wants is simple—to live again, and have his vengeance. What he'll do to achieve that end is anything. We offer him what he wants, stay out of the way so long as his vengeance doesn't interfere with our mission, and all is well."

Clay leans toward the circle of runes, lowering his voice as if delivering a secret. "If your definition of all is well includes letting crazy ghosts torture people for kicks, I don't really like your definition of well."

The woman shrugs. "Your friend and his pack are an unwanted, unpredictable, dangerous element that has been thrown into a carefully controlled system. What else would you have us do except eliminate it?"

"I'll give you a hint—if your great plan to change the world is actually a good thing, you could just tell Apollo about it and he'd throw his lot in with you." Clay gestures with his right hand, a sweeping motion to include everyone. "He's a good guy, who's been working all his life to change the world for the better. So again, seems a little sketchy on your part, don't you think?"

"I think you're a ghost with very limited knowledge of what's happening and predetermined loyalties." The woman stands, stretching her neck to each side as she does. "Not to say that's a bad thing, just that it impacts the types of interactions we can have."

Clay also scrambles to his feet, keeping himself at eye level with the woman. "What, Hermits don't like talking to the ghosts they see?"

"It has its time and its place." A small smile graces the woman's face. "I know I should stop talking to you now, but you actually seem eager to learn atop your desperate grasping for whatever knowledge will help protect you, and I appreciate that."

"I don't suppose you appreciate it enough to help me out? Give me some guidance?" Clay gives a hopeful smile.

"Guidance. Oh, but that's a loaded word to throw at a Hermit." Her right hand rises to cover her mouth for a moment.

"I apologize if I offended." Clay struggles to remember what he learned yesterday about the Hermit bloodline. Why are there so many weird bloodlines? And why are they all showing up _now_?

"It's not offensive. It's a part of what we _are—_ givers and seekers of guidance. It's... another reason I find you far too easy to talk to." Settling down cross-legged on the other side of the rune system, the woman smiles at him. "My given name is Reese. I see no harm in you knowing it, and it will be more pleasant to use than my bloodline."

"Whatever you want." Clay also settles back down, sitting as close to the barrier as he can manage. "Look, Reese, my friends and I just want to live our lives, doing our jobs. Well... they want to live their lives."

"You do, too. Or, as I said, you wouldn't be here." Reese huffs out a small breath, blowing a stray piece of silver hair away from her eyes. "If I told you we could restore your life, what would you offer in turn?"

"Bring me back?" Clay's eyes widen, a spike of hope skewering painfully through his chest. "You could... really do that? It wasn't just Kristoph being a jackass."

"Certain bloodlines working together can do a great many things." Reese gives a faint, proud smile. "What would you offer us in return?"

Clay shakes his head, giving what he knows must be a tired smile. "Not what you'd want. Not undying loyalty and spying on my friends and helping you guys convince a god to do... whatever you're thinking of convincing him to do."

"You considered it, though. For four seconds longer than I expected you would. The lure of life is a very strong one, isn't it? I'll have to update that in my calculations." The woman once more pulls her notebook from her eclectic clothing set, her voice becoming more distant, clearly talking to herself. "It means I'll have to adjust calculations for other things... altruistic sacrifice involves a greater quotient of love... suicide a higher delving of despair..."

"Reese." Clay can hear the desperation in his own voice as he tries to draw her attention back to him. "Is that... a part of your bloodline? Recording things?"

"Introspection and consideration, yes." Reese snaps the book closed, returning it to whatever nook of her clothes it lives in. "I'm going to start ignoring you soon, Clay. I've already used up most of my patience for dealing with others for the day, though your enthusiasm and interest has extended the time by approximately four percent."

"That's... fantastic." Clay tries to smile again. "Is that all your bloodline does, then? Thinks about things?"

"Hardly. It's one of the things we tend towards, but what most know us for—want us for—is our psychometry. We can find anything." Green eyes seem to pierce through him as the woman gives a beatific smile. "Living. Dead. Animate. Inanimate. Tangible. Intangible. If something can be named, we can find and consider and guide it."

Clay feels a shiver crawl its way up his spine. "That's why you can see ghosts."

"That's why we can see everything. And part of how we can offer Mr. Gavin the price to earn his loyalty." Reese looks down at her watch. "I should be getting back to work, though. I need to save at least five minutes for interacting with Chariot when they finally get here."

"Just one more question!" Clay waits just long enough to see the woman hesitate. "What does Chariot do? Why are they coming here?"

"You're so ignorant, little ghost." Reese shakes her head, turning her body away from him to move back to her desk and speaking over her shoulder. "What does a chariot driver do?"

Clay has never, ever seen a chariot, but he summons up all the terrible science fiction and fantasy movies he has seen involving chariots and makes his best guess. "Cracks a whip at the horses or horse-like beings and tries not to fall off?"

Shaking her head again, Reese gives a little snort of laughter. "They _control_ , Mr. Terran. They yoke and control the powers that are needed."

Another shiver crawls up and down Clay's spine. "By yoke and control, you don't mean—"

"I'm going back to my work." The woman settles down at her desk again. "Please don't interrupt me unless it's direly important."

Clay is pretty certain that this is direly important, but he doesn't really want to anger the person who seems the most likely to be on his side here. So instead he pulls his knees up to his chin, turning her words over and over in his mind, trying desperately to find a meaning to them that doesn't make throwing himself at the runes until they destroy him seem like a halfway decent option.


	10. Chapter 10: Summoning

_**Chapter Ten: Summoning**_

Klavier slouches down in the passenger's seat, his wounded shoulder held close to his center of balance, his blue eyes slitted as he stares out at the road.

Ema tries not to watch him too closely. She tries not to notice the differences in his body posture—the way he sits more _ferally_ now, as though ready for attack at any time. She tries not to notice the way his eyes dart towards any motion, as a dog's would. She tries not to notice the _smells_ that fill the car—blood and gunpowder and _adrenaline_ , both hers and his, and every breath she takes only seems to make the adrenaline smell stronger.

(She tries not to think of the way he snarled, a show of teeth and fury that was like nothing she has seen from him before, and placed his body between her and the monster leaping at them. She tries not to think of the way the gun kicked in her hand, and the _relief_ she felt when Klavier flung the clearly beaten werewolf away. She tries not to think of how much she _felt_ , in those few seconds—not just herself and her own body but _his_ , the burning of his hip, the pain of tooth and claw digging into flesh, and—)

" _Fraulein_." Klavier has turned his head to stare at her. "Ema. Are you all right?"

"Of course." She snaps out the response, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

Klavier opens his mouth, closes it without making a sound, and instead slowly reaches his right hand into his pocket. Pulling the magatama out, he dangles it between them for a moment before depositing it into one of the cup holders.

How many locks had he seen? How hard had it been for him to set aside the talisman that let him see them—to give her the benefit of trusting her words more than what his own senses told him?

"I'm..." Ema's fingers roll around the rubber of the steering wheel, leaving sweat traces in their wake. "That's the first time I've actually shot anyone."

" _Danke_." Klavier's eyes are wide and guileless as he looks across the car at her. "For protecting us both."

"Well, it's my job and you were trying to protect me, so..." If she keeps talking words will just start spilling out of her, so Ema forces herself to stop, to put them into some semblance of order. "It was... intense."

"Violence usually is." Klavier sits up a bit straighter, his right arm moving away from his body—his posture looking more _human_ , and Ema shouldn't be as grateful for that as she is.

"Not just the violence, though that... I'm going to have to tell Edgeworth what happened, finagle an explanation for the missing round into a report somewhere." Ema bites down hard on her bottom lip. She had known there would be lying involved in keeping this secret, but somehow she hadn't expected it to _bother_ her so much. "But... during the fight... I could..."

"You could feel me?" Klavier arches an eyebrow. "My emotions?"

A faint flush creeps across Ema's face as she nods. "Yes. Not _just_ you, but you were brightest. How much you wanted to protect me—protect the whole pack. How much you hurt. How much you wanted to—to Change."

"Like what happened yesterday, but worse. More intense." Klavier frowns, resting his head back against the seat. "Because we are closer to the full moon? Because it always becomes more intense the more it's used? We have so many questions and so few answers."

"We do and it..." Ema blinks, refusing to let her eyes tear up. She is stronger than this. She has been through worse than this. "It's... really weird. I knew what I was getting into, I _chose_ this, but for the first time today I wondered..."

"You wondered if it was really the right thing to do, becoming a _werwolf_." Klavier's lips turn up into a faint, sad smile. "There is no shame in that, _Fraulein Wissenschaft_. I think I would have been more surprised if you never doubted at all."

"But we haven't done anything _wrong_." Ema grits her teeth, trying to keep her attention focused on the road—trying to keep the car moving as fast as feasibly possible, because they are heading from one disaster right into the next. "You didn't ask to get shot. You didn't do anything to warrant us getting attacked in there. Terran didn't do anything to your bastard of a brother—sorry, I just..."

"Don't apologize for insulting him. Especially not if he really has done something to Clay." Klavier's lips pull back from his teeth, a very canine snarl on a human face. "Clay has done nothing. Apollo and I did _nothing_ other than show what was really there. For Kristoph to do what he is doing..."

She can _feel_ it again, a sharp lance of anger and a deep throbbing ache of grief, and Ema can't quite keep a whimper locked behind her teeth as her knuckles turn white.

"Ach, Ema—I'm sorry." Klavier reaches towards her and then pulls away. "We'll figure out what's going on. Apollo and I did not have this problem before... I'm sure either Agent Lang or Navon or one of the others will be able to help us. There's no need to worry."

"I'm just... a little overwhelmed." Ema lets out a breath she hadn't intended to be holding. "And, honestly... a little scared. It's making me doubt myself and my decisions, which is silly and ridiculous."

"And very human." Klavier's smile is softer this time. "It's all right to doubt and be wary. Just don't doubt so much that you fight the transformation or hurt yourself. Trust me, it isn't worth it. And the Change... as strange and disorienting as it is, I... might well have chosen it for myself, if given the option. At least I am quite content with who it has made me."

Ema turns a little smile on the rock-star, ensuring that he hasn't picked up the magatama again—ensuring he won't know that she's lying to him. "I haven't noticed a single change in you, Gavin. Still the same glimmerous fop."

The smirk that Klavier gives her is both knowing and grateful. "Why change when you are already perfect, _ja_?"

"Uh huh. You just keep telling yourself that." Pressing down a little bit harder on the accelerator, Ema weaves her way onto the highway.

The sooner she and Klavier get back to the rest of the pack, the sooner they can get Clay back, the sooner there will be time for existential self-doubt coupled with lots and _lots_ of scientific experiments.

XXX

"I can't give you an answer." Lang growls out the words to a pacing Apollo, though his voice softens when he continues. "I wish I could, Firebolt, I really do. All I can tell you is that there shouldn't be pack-bonds between all of you yet, because you can't be _pack_ until you're actually a _werewolf_ , and that your pack-bonds sound really _intense_ even for a proper pack."

Sebastian sits at the kitchen table, out of the way, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his gloves.

"I'm not trying to be confrontational or accusatory, I just..." Apollo buries both hands in his hair. "We need to know what's going _on_ , right? We need to be in control if we're going to be meeting with other packs tomorrow, and I don't feel like we _are_ right now."

Lang sighs. "Part of that's because their alpha's about two steps away from fraying like a gnawed rope."

"I am _not_!" Apollo's shout fills the whole house. "And that analogy doesn't even make _sense_."

"You _are_ super nervous, Polly." Trucy reaches out slowly, linking her fingers through Apollo's. "Everyone can see it, and it _does_ make things feel kind of tingly and tense, like there's little lightning bolts all over everything. I get _why—_ we all do, we know we need to get Clay back—but... well..."

"I'm _trying_." Apollo lowers his head, stops his pacing, though Sebastian can see a faint tremble start at the man's hands and thread its way through his whole body. "Believe me, I'm _trying_ , I just—"

"You just need things to be going our way, for once." Klavier saunters into the kitchen, a grin on his face and his jacket slung over his right shoulder. He smells like blood and moves with a limp still, but there is nothing but confidence in his body language as moves up to Apollo and slings his right arm across Apollo's shoulders. "Believe me, I understand. _Fraulein_ Scientist and I share your frustration with the current situation."

Apollo leans his head against Klavier's chest, their bodies seeming to meld against each other far too easily, and draws deep breaths. "You're okay. You're really..."

"A little banged up, but overall doing quite well." Shrugging out of his torn jacket, allowing the bloody fabric to fall to the floor, Klavier pulls apart holes in his black shirt to show the scabbed skin underneath. "See? At the rate this is healing, I should be back to one hundred percent in an hour or so. Well, other than my leg."

Lang makes a disconcerting little growling noise deep in his throat.

Apollo turns a glare on him. "Don't say it. Even if it's weird, I don't want to know right now."

Holding up both hands, Lang leans back against the wall. "As you wish, Firebolt."

Apollo gives a little huff and turns his attention back to Klavier. Reaching up, he grabs Klavier at the nape of his neck, a firm, solid hold, and bends Klavier's body down so that Klavier's head rests against Justice's shoulder. Tension eases out of both their bodies despite the awkwardness of Klavier's position, and Apollo's face shifts so that it's resting against Klavier's neck.

"We'll get him back." Klavier's voice is filled with firm conviction. "We'll keep all of them safe."

A sigh rips itself from deep in Apollo's body, and he releases Klavier. "I know we will. And I'm glad you're all right."

"Always, Herr Forehead." Klavier gives a little grin and wave and moves away from Apollo's side—moves toward Sebastian, Sebastian realizes belatedly, as Apollo moves toward Ema, greeting her in a bit more human fashion than he greeted Klavier. " _Hallo_ , Herr Erste."

Sebastian stutters out a few sounds and eventually manages a _hello_ of his own.

Klavier settles down in the chair next to Sebastian, sitting sideways on it, his knees almost touching Sebastian's. Sebastian's eyes keep flicking from Klavier to the blood-stained jacket on the floor.

"Would it make you feel better if I went and picked it up?" Klavier raises one pale eyebrow.

"Um... yes, actually." Sebastian can feel his face flushing, his fingers twisting together. "Prosecutor Edgeworth probably wouldn't appreciate blood on his kitchen floor."

"That is true. Herr Katze has put up with a great deal from us already. I should not burden him further with beastly slovenliness." Pushing himself back to his feet, Klavier claims his jacket from the floor and hangs it neatly off his chair before settling back down. "Better?"

Sebastian gives a little nod.

Reaching out slowly, Klavier settles a hand on Sebastian's knee. "I am sorry, _mein Freund_. I know this has been difficult for you."

Tears prick at Sebastian's eyes, and he blinks them frantically away as he shakes his head. "It's not your f-fault. I just..."

"I can be sorry even if I am not blaming myself, though the fact that you do not blame me is a precious, precious gift, Sebastian." Scooting forward, crowding a bit closer into Sebastian's personal space, Klavier lifts his arm and slips it gently around Sebastian's shoulders. "I felt you, earlier. I am sorry I couldn't help."

"You were busy being mailed by a w-werewolf." Sebastian shakes his head, though he leans into Klavier's embrace, finding it comforting and warm. "I should have been able to h-handle it."

"There is nothing, not even being mauled by a werewolf, that makes me comfortable with not being able to help my friends." Klavier's free hand rises, pushes Sebastian's messy bangs back into a semblance of order.

"The detective and Ms. Cykes helped me. And Mr. Justice." Sebastian's eyes flick to Apollo again, where he and Ema seem to be having a lively but friendly conversation, Ema jotting down notes in her little werewolf notebook. "And when they came back... whatever Ms. Cykes can do, making the wolf and the pain settle down, is really quite remarkable. Also another thing that Agent Lang is unfamiliar with, and may or may not be related to our strange pack bonds."

"I have rather a lot to catch up on, I take it." Klavier's hand pats against Sebastian's shoulder. "I'll trust you to fill me in. Though first things first, do we have any sort of plan about how to get Mr. Terran back from—"

Maya Fey appears in the kitchen doorway, and Sebastian has to pause and blink and stare for a moment along with everyone else. She is in what must be full ceremonial gear, long flowing robes in white and purple, jewelry woven into her hair. "All right, everyone! Pearly and I are ready to try summoning Clay, so if anyone with a strong attachment to him or desire to have him back would follow me..."

Everyone in the room starts following her. Lang hesitates, just for a moment, and then shrugs and joins the exodus.

Klavier rises to his feet, expression shifting between grim and a half-feral showing of teeth. Then he looks back at Sebastian, still sitting in his chair, and holds out a hand. "Do you want to come? If you don't want to, that's fine."

"I didn't..." Sebastian swallows. "I want him back, for the pack's sake, but I didn't... know him very well."

"He saved my life. He's becoming a good friend of mine." Klavier keeps his hand out.

Sebastian considers for another moment before putting his hand in Klavier's and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

He may not know Clay Terran personally very well, but he knows what it's like to be trapped somewhere you don't want to be. If there's anything he can do to help, he'll certainly try.

XXX

Maya situates everyone as best as she can in the living room, trying to arrange the circle so she can have a good flow of energy. She's removed most of the furniture and decorations, packing it off into various bedrooms, and hopes Edgeworth won't mind _too_ much when he gets home. It's usually far easier to beg forgiveness than permission, though, and what she's doing right now is important.

Apollo sits to her right, a buzzing ball of tension and grief and vibrating Moon energy. (He had been getting _better_ , finally, putting his grief to rest, and she hates seeing him torn open like this again.) Klavier sits at Maya's left hand, an attempt to keep the Moon energy balanced; he is constantly shifting, craning his neck so that he can look across the circle at Apollo. Next to Apollo sits Trucy, then Ema, then Gumshoe, then Pearly, then Lang, Athena, Sebastian, and back around to Klavier.

It's not _perfect_ , but she can already feel the unity of their desire, falling into a usable pattern against even the few Kurain artifacts she and Pearly were able to set up, and Maya hopes that it will be enough to work with.

"All right." Settling down at the head of the circle, Maya looks around at the assembled people. All the blinds on the windows have been closed, allowing most of the light to come from the lanterns that she and Pearly hastily put up. "This is what will hopefully happen. I'll try to summon Clay's spirit from wherever it's being held captive. If it works, he'll possess me, and then be able to step out of my body and join us like he normally does. We'll all have burgers to celebrate, and it'll be great. If it doesn't... we'll come up with another plan."

If it doesn't work it means that either they have him bound more tightly than Maya can summon—a frightening proposition—or there is no Clay Terran left to summon. Neither of those is an outcome that Maya really wants to think about.

Closing her eyes, Maya loops her fingers together in front of her magatama. "All right, everyone. Quiet from now until I say it's all right to speak or until I start talking like Clay. Concentrate on what you know of Clay Terran. Concentrate on bringing him home."

It is always frightening when she first dives into the spirit realm—though it's more frightening when she can't, more terrifying when a lack of practice makes a place that has been her second home for as long as she can remember a land she can barely glimpse, let alone visit. Everyone _glows_ , a fierce, vibrant energy. It is their spirits, Maya knows, the essence of _who they are_ , still encased in their human bodies. She couldn't call one of them—the connection of flesh and spirit is stronger than the pull of any medium in all but a few rare instances.

She doesn't want one of them, anyway. She wants one of the drifting ones, the lonely ones—the ones who gather around any time there is a medium offering a doorway, eager to take it. Not just _any_ drifting spirit, though. She needs Clay Terran.

She needs the astronaut that Ema pictures, sparkling eyes and a quick tongue that speaks eagerly of what he is doing and what it will mean for the future.

She needs the stalwart support that Klavier envisions, a man who does not have to be there but extends the hand of friendship anyway.

She needs the _friend_ that Apollo aches for, _grieves_ for, desperately _needs_ , and if he is anywhere out there, if he is within reach at _all—_

There is a flicker, a brief flash that is _almost_ a connection. It is familiar to Maya—she felt it so many times during her first year working with Nick, when they needed Mia's help and she could only sometimes reach her sister. Before Maya's consciousness can fade back, leaving room for Clay to step into her body, something red and fiery snaps up between them, and Maya is left blinking and shaking and very much still herself.

"Mystic Maya!" Pearl sprints across the circle, skidding to a halt in front of Maya, one of her hands settling on each of Maya's shoulders. "Are you all right? What _was_ that?"

"What happened?" Apollo's voice is a half-octave too high, barely controlled fear that wants to turn into anger. In someone with Moon blood—someone who is a Moon alpha—that is dangerous, and Maya forces her body to work as it should.

Straightening, she pats Pearl on the shoulder and faces Apollo squarely. "He hasn't been destroyed. He's still out there. But something's keeping him away from me, preventing him from coming."

"What is it?" Apollo's lips pull back from his teeth. "How do we overcome it?"

"I... don't know." Maya hates saying the words, disappointing all the faces that are turned to her for answers. "I've never experienced something like this before. It has to be one of the other bloodlines keeping him tied down. I can't imagine what else it would be. But unless we know who it is and what they're doing... if we knew where they were keeping him, we could try to get closer, and that might help, but..."

"There's someone else you could channel." Klavier frowns down at the floor, his words slow and grating, sounding as though they burn his throat. "Someone else who knows where Clay is and what they have done to him. Someone who is working with them and is thus likely not guarded against your attempts."

"No!" Trucy and Apollo speak in unison, and Klavier cringes back, his head turning to the side.

Trucy shakes her head at Maya. "You can't, Aunt Maya. If Kristoph's been told about how your bloodline works—if he has control of your body—"

Maya looks into Pearly's eyes, biting down on her bottom lip as she does. "Do you think you could do the Spirit Severing Technique if you needed to? If he tried to..."

What? If he tries to what? Maya has heard all about Kristoph's many and varied crimes. (It took her years and a very good bottle of wine from the Kurain cellars to get the _whole_ story, but Nick can never keep a secret from her indefinitely.) What will he think to do with her body if he overcomes her will and the boundaries she will put on his actions while in control—a possibility not because _she_ is weak but because _he_ is a vicious, ruthless, amoral spirit whose goal in death seems to be torturing three people, two of whom are currently in the room with her?

Pearly thinks long and hard before nodding, her hands clutching Maya's tight. "I can do it. I won't need to—you're strong enough to handle any nasty old ghost, Mystic Maya—but if I need to I'll be able to banish him again. I promise."

It's not a promise Pearly would make lightly, Maya knows. Drawing a breath, Maya looks around the circle once more. "It's a good idea. I talked about it with Nick yesterday." Nick had been adamantly against it, but again, easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and the situation has changed since she and Nick last talked. "Anyone who doesn't want to be here while I do this is welcome to leave."

Her eyes track to Klavier first, and he finally raises his head, giving it a little shake and her a sad smile. "He is my brother. I am not going to suggest this and then walk away, leaving you to deal with it. Besides, it will be somewhat nice to face him when I am _not_ half-dead and can actually articulate my accusations and defenses."

Maya's gaze slides across the circle to where Apollo sits.

Apollo's mouth sets in the stubborn, mulish expression that means he isn't going to be budged. "I'm going to be here. He owes me explanations, and I owe him a punch or three for everything he's done, to me and Mr. Wright and Klavier and everyone else."

Both Maya's eyebrows arch up. "If you could not administer them while he's in my body, I'd appreciate it."

"Right. Uh. Well." Apollo turns slightly red, rubbing at the back of his head. "I'll be good. Promise."

Maya's eyes slide to the young woman next to Apollo. Trucy gives a little shrug. "I hate him, sure, for what he did to Polly and Daddy and Klavier, and for using me when I was little. But I doubt he even remembers me—I didn't even rate on his need-to-eliminate list—and I'm smart enough not to let my emotions cloud my judgment."

She is far too smart for her age, and Maya sees too much of her own reflection in Trucy's eyes and stubborn, shining cheerfulness. Trucy is someone who won't be broken, who wears her love and her happiness like a shield to cloak herself and those she cares about, hoping it will be enough to stave off the horrors of the world at large.

Turning her eyes to her own hands, Maya blinks away tears. Damn, but Nick's managed to build a good family around himself.

And Maya's not going to let anyone hurt that family, not if she can possibly help it.

Resuming her summoning posture, Maya smiles at Pearly. "Back to your position. And let's see about getting some answers here."

XXX

Klavier can feel the energy building in the room again. It's a different _type_ of energy than what he feels from the other wolves, more a shimmering, shivering sensation, like a note just on the edge of hearing, and it makes the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Sebastian's hand finds his, and he squeezes it tightly, trying to give as much comfort as he can. Apollo and Trucy are both watching him from across the circle, and he smiles at them, steadying himself on the firm hull of Apollo's defensiveness.

This isn't something Kristoph is making them do, some ploy of his brother's that they're walking into. This is something they are _choosing_ to do, so that they can get answers. This is something _they_ are in control of, and Klavier isn't going to be afraid.

(He can smell his fear, a faint, subtle tang in the air around them, but maybe none of the others can, and if no one else notices then it isn't _really_ real.)

Watching Kristoph possess Maya stops Klavier's breath in his chest. It is strange to see her features _shift_ , becoming far too similar to what he sees in the mirror every day—to see Kristoph's face surrounded by dark hair, when it has always been light—to _smell_ the change in Maya's scent, a cloying, dank undertone joining what had been airy and light—

Kristoph's eyes fly open and he looks around the room, disbelief and confusion evident for one long second before he bursts out laughing. "You _didn't—_ really. Oh, how very _kind_ of you. I've _wanted_ a body so very badly, you know, and though this one isn't _quite_ what I had been thinking of, I suppose I can make do. It's—"

"Kristoph." Klavier cuts his brother off, his ears almost bleeding with the dissonance that he hears—Kristoph's voice, Kristoph's low tones, but also _Maya's_ voice, Maya's body stretched into unfamiliar shapes. "What have you done with Clay Terran?"

Kristoph raises a hand to stroke along Maya's long dark hair. "Is that what this is about? You'll give me Phoenix's little vixen in return for information on a _ghost_? I thought you, at least, had more moral fortitude than that, Justice."

Kristoph's eyes cut across to Apollo, who is sitting frozen, horror and rage both written across his features, into his smell. (Into the pack bonds, Klavier can _feel_ it, how hard Apollo is hanging on to his humanity and his control, and he wants to help but he doesn't know how. This is terrible for him, seeing his brother possessing a young woman he respects but doesn't know all that well yet; how much more terrible for Apollo, seeing his fallen mentor in the body of a woman who is close to him and Trucy and Phoenix?)

" _Kristoph._ " Klavier puts all the demand of a younger brother into his voice, and Kristoph's eyes swing back to him, away from taunting Apollo. "What have you done with Mr. Terran?"

"I warned him, you know." Kristoph leans back, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "I told him to stay out of it if he didn't want to be hurt—if he didn't want to possibly be destroyed. He didn't want to listen to me, though, and now the people that I warned him about have him."

Apollo lets out a low, rolling growl. "What are they planning on doing to him? Why are they interested in him?"

"They have no interest in _him_ , per se." Kristoph flicks his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "He's just one more ghost—one more echo of despair and frustration created by this world. But _you_ , Justice—they have a great deal of interest in you. You never seem able to let things _go_ , you see—it's actually a defining characteristic of your bloodline—and that could be _problematic_ for them."

"What do _you_ know about bloodlines?" The voice is unexpected, coming from Shi-Long Lang where he lounges at seeming ease next to Pearl Fey. His tone is condescending, dripping scorn and disbelief, and his eyes as he looks at Kristoph are the eyes of an alpha staring at a rotten piece of meat, disgusted and disdainful.

"More than you'd think, old wolf." Kristoph has never been one to tolerate insults well, though his face shows his fury more openly now than it ever would have in life. "You'd think the Moon, of all people, would acknowledge that the dead can hold power, but perhaps you're too busy chasing your tails to notice."

"What kind of power?" Lang sneers, leaning forward and resting his head on one upturned knee. "The power to scare children and little old ladies?"

"The same powers we had when alive, but without the limitations of the flesh. Yours isn't the only or the most interesting bloodline, wolf." Kristoph tosses his head back, his eyes blazing bright blue in Maya's face. Raising one hand, he begins to sketch runes in the air.

"Stop it!" Pearl yells the command, her voice shrill but certain, her hands moving in a complicated series of gestures.

Klavier and Apollo both move, each grabbing one of Kristoph's arms.

Kristoph turns his head, looking from Apollo to Klavier. "Really? What are you going to do? Hurt me? Damage this body that's been so beautifully gift-wrapped for me?"

" _Tell me where Clay is._ " Apollo's voice booms into the room, filling every nook and cranny, and Klavier finds himself dropping Kristoph's arm, pressing his head to the floor, trying desperately to come up with an answer that he just doesn't _have_.

Kristoph laughs in Apollo's face. "I'm not part of your pack, monster. Tear their minds apart all you'd like looking for an answer you'll never get. You can't force _me_ to give you anything. That was never our relationship, now was it? I was the leader, the mentor, the _master_ , and you were the pathetic pupil with the overblown sense of morality who didn't recognize who _really_ had his best interests at heart, who could _really_ help you succeed in this miserable, forsaken, twisted—"

Klavier has managed to push himself back to his feet, but Sebastian is faster, lurching forward in a drunken stumble to press his hand over Kristoph's mouth. "Stop it. You're an evil, terrible man and if all you're going to say are lies and salivaries, we'll send you away again."

Kristoph glares out of Maya's eyes—eyes that are a darker blue than Klavier's, right now, that don't quite match what Klavier sees in the mirror, and he doesn't know if that's good or bad.

Putting a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, Klavier glances quickly around the room. Lang hasn't moved, maintaining his calm, relaxed pose—and it _is_ just a pose, Klavier can't tell how he knows but he _does_. A pose that has worked, drawing at least _some_ information out of Kristoph, but not enough.

Athena leans forward, the fingers of her right hand moving over thin air, Widget glowing a bright red on her chest. "Mr. Gavin. Would you mind speaking to me for a moment?"

Pearl looks between Athena and Kristoph and settles back into her spot, her face still pinched and worried, her hands clearly ready to continue their series of gestures if need be.

At gentle pressure from Klavier, Sebastian removes his hand from Kristoph's mouth. Kristoph looks at Apollo, and eventually Apollo releases his arm, though Klavier can hear a rumbling growl percolating in Apollo's throat as he does.

Straightening his clothes, dusting himself off, Kristoph looks down at Athena. "Ms. Cykes, isn't it? Exactly what are you hoping to do with your little toy there?"

"Just to have a conversation." Athena smiles brightly, but it is a smile of barbed teeth—a shark's smile, ready to move in for the kill.

Does Kristoph recognize that, or has he gotten so used to barbed smiles that they appear normal now?

Settling back in Maya's place in the circle, Kristoph glances around. "I really don't know why I should humor you when all of you have such dour outlooks on myself and my work."

"It lets you breathe again." Ema's whole body is held rigid and tense, and Klavier wonders what demons from her own past Kristoph is reminding her of. "You said you wanted a body. Really want us to kick you out of it so quickly?"

"All right, then." Kristoph smiles, and it is also a shark's smile, not nice at all. "Ask your questions. See what answers you can get."

It's a good idea, actually. Kristoph's biggest weakness is his love of performance, of drama and flare. If he had not been so quick to describe in vivid detail the scene when he killed Shadi Smith—if he had kept his cool during Apollo's final interrogation of him instead of spilling everything—

Perhaps it is something they will be able to use against him here, as well.

"We'll start with the simple questions, then. Who are you working with, and why?" Athena's voice is strong, sweet, seeming to hold impossible harmonies with itself, and Klavier finds himself leaning towards her, _wanting_ to answer. It's a different type of impulse than what he felt from Apollo, but very real nonetheless.

Does Kristoph feel it? Is that why he starts talking? "I'm working with people who are going to change the world. They have such grand plans, such long-laid schemes. I find it both fascinating and a little sad, all that they've architected and worked towards. As for what they've offered me—well, what I've got right now. A body. A _life_. Everything you people took away from me."

Kristoph's eyes flash to Klavier, loathing, accusing, and Klavier looks away, not wanting to protest and break whatever spell Athena is weaving.

"I can see why you'd want that." Athena somehow manages to give a more genuine smile, though Klavier can still feel her horror, her _revulsion_ at everything that Kristoph is. "And in exchange for somehow giving you another body, they want you to... kill us?"

"Eliminate you, if I can, which also aligns nicely with my goals." Kristoph crawls towards Athena, his voice falling to a lower, almost congenial tone. "Spy on you if I can't eliminate you, which would be easier if you weren't all deciding to turn into monsters on me now."

"It seems a little unfair, you calling the Moon bloodline monsters when it definitely sounded like you were claiming a bloodline for yourself earlier." Athena arches an eyebrow, her hands flying over Widget's interface surface, that same ringing harmony still in her voice.

"Does it?" Kristoph crawls even closer to her, and Klavier finds himself following behind, wary and uncertain of what Kristoph's plan is. "It depends upon the bloodline, you see. The Moon makes you into beasts, as does the Star. Others, though, make you into _more_ than human. Make you the predators that prey on humanity, the lovers they hold close even as you drain them dry, and _that_ is something I can get behind."

Athena leans back, putting a little bit more distance between herself and Kristoph, but her voice maintains the same cool melodiousness. "Did you help them capture Clay?"

"I did." Kristoph laughs, a bright, grating sound against Klavier's ears. "I gift-wrapped him for them and delivered him into their lair, and they were so _grateful_. But don't look so horrified. I'm really quite certain they'll give him _back_ , once he's had a few modifications."

"Modifications?" Athena's voice shivers, just slightly, a vibrato to the harmonies. "What do you—"

Kristoph acts, faster and with far more focus and determination than Klavier had expected. He doesn't go for Ema, as Klavier had feared he would, trying to wrest Ema's gun away from her; instead he shoves Pearl down, earning a shriek of surprise and pain from the young woman, and when Lang reaches for her snags the hilt of a knife that had been tied at Lang's belt.

Lang snarls, curled fingers and teeth reaching for Kristoph... and then stops abruptly.

Kristoph waves the knife back and forth in front of Lang's face. "Tut tut, Agent. Do you _really_ want to dismember her, the poor helpless little girl who's trying to help you? Or, worse, _infect_ her? I've heard that the Priestess and the Moon tend not to get along terribly well, with rather _gruesome_ results for those caught in the tug."

Athena stumbles to her feet, her voice shaking even more as she holds out a hand toward Kristoph. "Come on, now. You don't really—"

"Don't really what? Don't really want to hurt anyone here?" Kristoph throws his head back and laughs again. "Good try, little Strength, but you're _nothing_ compared to a Chariot. Push and prod all you want, you're not going to convince _me_ to do something that I don't want to do. And I really, really don't want to help you people."

Pearl's hand begin moving again, a swift, sure rhythm as she whispers words under her breath.

Kristoph raises the knife to his throat, kneeling down so that his face is level with the girl's. "I really wouldn't, little one. I slit my own throat to get out of prison. There's no reason I won't slit hers just to spite you all."

Pearl falters, her pupils wide, her whole body seeming to shake minutely with fear and rage as tears begin to collect in the corners of her eyes.

Klavier's vision blurs out, his breath sounding loud and ragged in his ears as something _else_ takes precedence. He can _feel_ them—all of them, Apollo and Ema and Athena and Sebastian and Gumshoe and Pearl and Trucy and _Lang_ , so tired, so slow from exhaustion and jet lag, so furious with himself for letting this happen.

Not just the pack, though it works along the same lines as the pack-bonds, but _everyone_.

Kristoph.

If he reaches he can feel _Kristoph_ , rage burning so hot it comes back around to cold, gloating, vicious satisfaction at having managed to do this, at being able to _hurt_ them like this. And he _will_ hurt them, he will kill Maya no matter what they do, and—

"Brother, dearest." Kristoph turns around, the knife still to his throat, his eyes piercing through the haze over Klavier's vision. "Careful what you do. I'd hate for my hand to slip before I'm ready."

As soon as Kristoph's eyes are off her Pearl begins moving again, desperate to finish the technique before they lose control of the situation completely. Klavier doesn't _see_ it, his gaze staying locked with Kristoph, but he knows it's happening anyway.

Knows he needs to keep Kristoph focused on him, and that's easy enough. "Why are you doing this? Why are you haunting me like this? I _loved_ you. I didn't _want_ to have things turn out as they did. I—"

"You _betrayed_ me, for a system and a public who are _nothing_ to you, who turned on you as soon as your shiny veneer was shown to be the least bit smudged!" Kristoph takes a step forward, the knife still held to Maya's throat. "You chose the _weak_ over the _strong_. You didn't even have the fortitude to help me _kill myself_ after you finished ensuring I'd hang, more content to come and watch me suffer, week after week, waiting for the wheels of a justice system that we both know is _bullshit_ to grind me to dust instead!"

Kristoph's hand slashes down, opening up a glistening red trail along Maya's left arm that doesn't quite look real even as the smell of blood stings Klavier's nose. The knife immediately returns to Maya's throat. "But oh, yes, it's such a _mystery_ why I would want to see you or Justice or Wright suffer, so _inconceivable—_ "

"Do you just want _a_ body, brother?" Klavier pushes against the bond that he can feel with his brother, letting in the fury and the bitterness and the maddening need for revenge. "Because I don't think you'd be content with the medium's form. You have always liked your image too much—a foible I can relate to. Wouldn't it be better to take one that is _almost_ like what you left behind? Let her live, and I won't even fight you. It will be just like you wanted when you tried to kill me, you in control and me as your—"

Kristoph doesn't let him finish talking. He doesn't even laugh again, his eyes wide with so many of the deadly sins—greed and envy and pride, so much thwarted pride.

It isn't the desire for vengeance that is foremost in Kristoph's mind as he flows from Maya Fey's body along the bond between them—the bond of brothers, of mirror images, of family and history and choices—and claims what he _really_ wants.

It is joy, pure, unadulterated, vicious joy, and it's the most sickening thing Klavier has ever felt in his life.


	11. Chapter 11: The Ties that Bind

_**Chapter Eleven: The Ties That Bind**_

Kristoph settles into his brother's skin with ease. Everyone has always said that they are alike, and Kristoph finds that, superficially at least, they aren't wrong. The way Klavier's lungs fill; the way Klavier's heart pumps in his chest; the way Klavier's arms move; the way Klavier's body balances, it's all beautifully, _delightfully_ close to how Kristoph's body used to be.

It's not _perfect_ , of course, and Klavier has been doing a rather terrible job taking care of his body. His right hip aches, a steadily burning fire that Kristoph can't help but love a bit because at least this pain means he's _alive_. At least this pain means that Kristoph has a _form_ again, the ability to _impact_ things, the _knowledge_ that Klavier has been sorely lacking, as Klavier is _always_ lacking in knowledge.

Klavier doesn't even fight him. It's a bit of a disappointment, though Kristoph supposes he shouldn't be too surprised. Klavier always was too much a man of his word, even when what he's offering is his own life on a silver platter. Before Klavier has a chance to regret that decision, Kristoph binds him down, using their true bloodline to make sure Klavier won't get a chance to interfere in this.

Opening his eyes, Kristoph blinks the world into focus, pleasantly surprised to see that everything looks perfect without glasses. His hand rises to his eyes before he realizes that even if Klavier were wearing contacts, he would be able to feel them.

Oh, he is going to _like_ wearing this body.

"K-Klavier?" Justice's voice stumbles on the name, horror and fear pooling around him in a stagnant swamp that assault Klavier's— _Kristoph's—_ too sensitive sense of smell.

Kristoph wrinkles his nose. Ah, right, the _werwolf_ thing. Well, no body is perfect. But having to smell fear, which has a tinge far too much like urine, is going to be very unpleasant over the long run. "Hello, Justice. How do I look?"

Justice doesn't say anything, apparently too caught up in his horror to figure out a proper reaction.

The Debeste boy does, surprisingly. He takes a shaking step closer to Kristoph, his teeth bared in a snarl that could be threatening if he didn't look so terrified. "Stop it. Give Klavier back."

There is a hint of power behind the words, but not nearly enough to actually threaten Kristoph—not when he's bound to Klavier by so many threads. Blood, Klavier's offer, all the years that Klavier loved him, all help to keep his little brother's spirit helpless hostage, and Kristoph smiles beneficently at the boy. "You aren't your father, Sebastian. You can't order me, and if you keep trying I'll kill him."

Sebastian quails back, tears welling up to trickle down his face.

Kristoph's smile widens, and he turns his attention back to his erstwhile protege. "I seem to have left you at a loss for words, Justice. I never would have imagined the day could come. Would you prefer I stay a bit more in character? Call you Herr Forehead? Pretend I don't know what language I'm supposed to be speaking?"

Justice's face goes pale white, his hand clenching so tightly around Trucy Wright's fingers it makes the girl wince. "Get out of Klavier's body."

"Or you'll what?" Kristoph crosses his arms in front of his chest, rocking up on the balls of his feet as he studies Justice, a laugh bubbling up in the back of his throat. "You'll kill me? Oh, _please_ do. I _do_ quite like this body, but the satisfaction of watching you tear my pathetic little brother apart—two animals destroying one another and never actually touching _me—_ would be too good to pass up."

A low mewling sound works its way out of Justice's throat, and his eyes dart frantically around the room, looking for help and an answer that isn't there.

Kristoph allows the laugh that had been building to spread out and fill the room, loving the way his chest contracts, the way his throat rumbles with the sound.

He is going to _enjoy_ this, he whispers to the little bundle of pained confusion that is his brother's trapped soul, bound down into helplessness within his own body.

He is going to enjoy this _so_ much, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop him.

XXX

Apollo watches Kristoph laughing, his blood running first too cold and then too hot in his veins as he does.

 _Think, Justice!_ The words are a demand, frantic, in a mixture of his own voice and Clay's. _Klavier wouldn't do something like this without reason. Why did he do it? What do you get out of this?_

They have Maya back, the woman currently doubled over on the floor in a puddle of blood while Lang and Ema wrap bandages around her arm. He didn't sacrifice himself just to save Maya, did he? No. There's something else. He _must_ have had another plan in mind, and if Apollo can just—

" _Begone, wretched one!_ " Pearl shouts out the words, her fingers twined together and pointed at Klavier—at _Kristoph_ , and it is eerie to see Klavier's features twisted into Kristoph's expressions, something Apollo will see in _nightmares_ for months to come. The magatama on Pearl's chest glows a bright, healthy green, and a gust of wind that smells of water and pine forests rushes through the living room.

Kristoph turns to face her, his arms held out to the side, a beatific, awful smile on his face. "Well done, little girl. Executed admirably, I'm sure. Unfortunately someone of my bloodline is hard to banish with a little spell like that, especially when we're bound to the vessel we inhabit. Bound by blood; bound by betrayal; bound as only brothers can be bound, and you all heard him offer what I've taken."

Apollo heard it. Apollo _felt_ it, a strange sort of horrified calm radiating out from Klavier as he cut a deal that should never have been made—that should never have been _needed_ , and Apollo deeply regrets ever agreeing to try contacting Kristoph's spirit in the first place.

Maya lifts her head, and her right hand is also forming some kind of sigil as she smiles grimly at Kristoph. "Just because it didn't succeed once doesn't mean we'll give up, jerk-face. _Begone!_ "

"Bonds..." Lang growls out the word, his nostrils flaring, his eyes glowing, his canines too long for his human mouth as he sits back on his heels, Maya's blood red on his hands. "Firebolt! _Bonds!_ "

 _Firebolt_. Not Apollo, not Justice—Firebolt, the name Lang gave him when he became a werewolf, and Apollo locks eyes with the older werewolf as understanding blooms within his chest.

Kristoph took Klavier's body—because they're brothers, because there's some kind of horrible bond there, because Kristoph— _Klavier's—_ extra bloodline somehow involves bonds.

But Klavier is _Apollo's_.

Klavier is a _werewolf_ , Apollo's beta, Apollo's _friend_. They Changed together— _Apollo_ Changed him, unintentionally, true, but it is Apollo's teeth that left a scar on Klavier's arm. Apollo pulled Klavier through that first night, held him tight as human and wolf found their balance, and if there's a bond stronger than that out there in the world, Apollo can't think of it.

Holding out a hand towards Kristoph, Apollo gathers up as much of his wolf strength as he can, watching the world grey out, holding himself teetering on the edge of the Change. " _Tell me where Clay is._ "

For a moment everything is still, and Apollo thinks maybe he's miscalculated somehow, missed something vital and important.

Then Kristoph drops to the floor, just as Klavier had earlier, both his hands pressed to his ears. _All_ Apollo's wolves drop to the floor. Even Lang winces, turning his head away from Apollo, and Apollo tries to hastily rein in his power, not wanting to accidentally hurt someone.

Kneeling down in front of Kristoph, Apollo reaches out to touch Klavier's forehead, focusing his concentration. " _Tell me where Clay is._ "

Blood collects at the corners of Klavier's eyes, trails down his cheeks in slow, gruesome trickles while Kristoph glares hatred out of Klavier's eyes. "You can't—I'm not—"

"He's _mine_." Apollo growls out the words. "That body belongs to _me_. Now _tell me where Clay is_."

"I don't _know_!" Kristoph howls out the words, every muscle in his stolen body feeling taut beneath Apollo's hand, stretched to the limit. "I teleported him from Pot's house to their base of operations. I've never been to their base except by teleporting. If any spirits try to get to the outside of the base, to see where it is, they have defenses in place to destroy us."

"How are they keeping him from escaping?" Apollo buries his fingers in Klavier's hair, holding tight to his focus.

"He's in a circle crafted by Death and the Devil for the sole purpose of trapping spirits." Klavier's mouth turns up into a vicious smile that is all Kristoph. "If he tries to escape too often, or you try to pull him too hard, the runes will tear at him until they destroy all that he is."

A cold weight seems to settle in Apollo's chest at the words, but he shoves it away. Clay's still out there, fighting to get home. They'll find a way to get him back, whole and unchanged by whatever this Chariot bloodline is.

Leaning down so that he's looking into Kristoph's eyes, Apollo hisses out his next command. " _Get out of his body._ Right now."

Klavier's body reels back, pulling out of Apollo's hold, leaving Apollo with a handful of fine blond hair in his hand. A wheezing sound that may be an attempt at a laugh works its way out of Kristoph's throat. "Careful—what you order. Hate—to drive _him_ out—as a ghost—and leave me—"

"Klavier." The sense of cold calm that accompanied the news about Clay's predicament spreads out, flowing from Apollo's chest through his whole body. "Whatever powers Kristoph has, whatever hold he has on you, _you've got the same abilities._ And you've also got the pack. The pack who's going to bring you _home_ now, and kick this no-good bastard of a ghost out of your body and out of our lives."

The pack has gathered around without Apollo having to say a word. Kristoph's skittering attempt at retreat brings him into Gumshoe's broad arms, which wrap around Klavier's body and hold tight, a gesture that is somehow unbreakable and protective at the same time. Athena is at Apollo's right hand, Widget glowing on her chest; Ema is at Apollo's left, with Sebastian next to her.

Apollo's never sure if they actually say words out loud next or if they just project everything along the pack bonds, a cacophony of _welcome_ for Klavier and _rejection_ of all that Kristoph is and any right Kristoph has to the body he's currently inhabiting.

Klavier's body arches, a blood-curdling scream filling the house, and Apollo hopes desperately that none of the neighbors are home to hear and call the police.

Then Klavier goes limp in Gumshoe's arms, blood pattering to the floor in a steady stream from his nose.

Maya is on her feet in an instant, Pearl at her side. Their voices chant out a string of syllables that don't make any words Apollo recognizes, and another gust of impossible wind rushes through the room.

"There." Maya falls to her knees, her face far too pale. "He's gone. Pearl, can you—"

"On it!" Pearl is already darting into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a fistful of the ghost-repellent charms, which she scatters around the room.

Gumshoe has settled down on the floor, Klavier cradled carefully in his arms. Sebastian presses forward, one hand reaching out to gingerly touch Klavier's fingers where they dangle limply. "Klavier...?"

Klavier draws a deep, shuddering breath, opening his eyes to smile hazily around at the pack. There is nothing of Kristoph remaining in his eyes, in his smile, and Apollo finds himself suddenly sitting down on the floor, not entirely sure how he got there. " _Hallo_ , everyone. Ach, Herr Forehead, Herr Erste, that's not—"

Anything more from Klavier is cut off by the pack descending on him, a cacophony of relief mixed with fond accusations as they all lean in to touch him, physical contact far more reassuring than Apollo would ever have imagined it could be. (They _need_ to touch, to be together, to be _pack_ , a humming along the bonds that Klavier somehow threw wide-open, and none of them are strong enough to fight it right now.)

Klavier struggles into a sitting position, using Gumshoe and Sebastian as braces, his eyes darting around first the pack and then the room. "Ms. Fey. The ritual you did, where you _almost_ snagged Clay—could you do it again?"

Maya's left sleeve is a bloody mess, her face pale, but after a moment's contemplation she nods. "I could, but what Kristoph said—"

"Was true but not _all_ the truth. If we aren't fast enough pulling him through the cage, it will try to destroy him, but just like one can pass a hand through fire if one is... quick enough..." Klavier attempts to stand and immediately sits back down. "One can draw a ghost from that cage with enough power and speed without destroying him."

Apollo shakes his head, already suspecting where this is going. "You can't even stand up, there's no way you can—"

"Not me, _we_." Klavier's face had been ashen grey, but as he holds Gumshoe and Sebastian's hands a bit of color returns to his cheeks. "Bonds, Herr Justice, _mein Alpha_. He is bound to you, to me, to _us_ , and I can use that to bring him home, but we have to do it _now_."

There is urgency in Klavier's tone, pounding along the pack bonds, and Apollo turns his gaze to Maya Fey.

Settling back into her position at the head of the circle, Maya raises her hands, one bloody and one clean, into the starting position for the summoning. "Let's bring our ghost home."

"Um… right." Pearl jumps back to her feet. "If everyone can help me find the charms I just put out…"

XXX

Clay jumps to his feet as the lights in the reading room shift from white to red, strobing along with a deeply unsettling siren.

Reese lifts her head, frowning at the ceiling before heaving a deep sigh and putting her book away. "What in the heavens' good name... surely DeBeste didn't bring something back with him..."

Clay has an idea, but he tries not to get too excited about it or let it show on his face. "DeBeste? Like... Sebastian DeBeste?"

Reese shakes her head. "Blaise DeBeste. The Chariot who's to inaugurate you into service."

"Because _that_ doesn't sound sketchy at all." Clay really hopes that whatever's happening will keep this Blaise DeBeste away for a significant amount of time. _Someone_ had tried to reach Clay not that long ago, to pull Clay through the walls of his prison, with less-than-pleasant results. Since that someone is almost certainly related to Apollo, and Apollo isn't one to give up—

The tug comes again, sharp, demanding, and Clay closes his eyes, bracing himself for pain. Unless something has changed between this time and last time—

But something has. Last time the call had been one person, he thinks, a tug of wind that urged him along towards a destination he couldn't see. The wind had been filled with sounds and images from multiple people, but it had still been guided by a single hand.

Now... there is still that hand, holding things together. _Two_ hands holding things together, one the warm wind and the other a crackling electricity that seems to dance from point to point, enlivening, strengthening, _charging_.

Maybe it will be strong enough to sweep him through the bars of his prison.

If it isn't...

 _Come on, Clay!_ Apollo's voice seems to vibrate through Clay's whole being, fierce, loud, determined, aching, _desperate_ , and Clay opens his eyes, staring at the blazing red walls of his cell. Reese is walking towards the cell, one hand raised, mouth forming words that Clay is fairly certain he doesn't want her to speak.

Ah, well. One doesn't become an astronaut because one's good at avoiding risks.

Diving into the summons, Clay throws himself at the walls of his cell, screaming his defiance, hoping the silent cry won't be the last he ever makes.

XXX

Clay cracks open one eye, looking around nervously. If he's looking around, then that means he hasn't been destroyed, right?

"Clay?" Apollo's voice echoes off the edges of whatever room they're in. " _Clay?_ "

Someone tackles him, and Clay lets out a very un-space-worthy scream as pain flares up and down his left arm. What the _hell_?

Fending Apollo off for a moment, Clay stares at his arm... an arm that is encompassed in bloody white and purple robes. "I'm being _channeled_? I'm in one of the mediums?"

"You're _okay_!" Apollo grabs Clay by the lapels—actually Maya, Clay figures out, since he can see Pearl sitting a little bit away. "Did they do anything—did they hurt you?"

Clay draws a deep breath and pauses, looking down at his borrowed body again, surprised at how _amazing_ it feels to breathe and how much it _hurts_ to know that he won't be for much longer. "I'm all right. They did some unpleasant things, but they hadn't quite gotten around to the really awful parts when you guys spirited me away. Thanks, by the way. I—"

"Justice!" Ema's voice cuts across Clay's, and both Clay and Apollo turn to see Klavier collapse against Sebastian.

Apollo's hands tighten possessively around Clay, his breathing picking up speed as he looks between Clay and Klavier.

"Go help." Clay gently pushes Apollo towards his pack.

Leaving Clay in the body of a woman who seemed pretty cool for the brief bit that Clay got to see her yesterday, and he spends a moment twiddling his fingers together, poking at the bloody rent in his shirt sleeve and the hasty bandages tied around his arm— _her_ arm, and he can't allow himself to get too comfortable here.

"Um, hi." Pearl is sitting in front of him suddenly, her eyes meeting his with hesitant uncertainty. "It's nice to have you back, Mr. Terran. If you don't mind staying in Ms. Maya's body for a moment, I'm going to go perform a quick ritual to try to keep other ghosts out of the room. It should also make it hard for any other mediums to try to grab you, in case they've got a High Priestess working for them."

Clay nods. "Sounds like a good plan."

Pearl gives a grateful little smile. "All right. When I'm done, you'll leave Mystic Maya's body and things will be just like they were before, right?"

"Definitely." Clay smiles at the girl, trying to be reassuring. As much as he's loving the feel of being alive again, he's not going to try to steal the body of one of Apollo's friends. "This arm _hurts_. The sooner I can give this body back, the better."

"Okay." Pearl jumps to her feet, scampering off towards the bedroom she and Maya share. "I'll be back in just a minute!"

She's back in less than a minute, beginning a slow circuit of the room with a stick of some kind of incense in hand. Clay can see little points of light appear where her feet have touched, forming a loose circle of glowing green around the living room.

A circle that flares but doesn't break when Phoenix Wright walks in, the smile on his face fading away into horror as he takes in the bloody scene before him.

"Mr. Nick!" Pearl squeaks out the name, jumping and almost dropping the incense stick.

"Mr. Wright!" Apollo also jumps to his feet, his right hand red with Klavier's blood; the rest of the pack stays huddled around the still-unconscious man. "Ah... it's all right, I swear, everything looks a lot worse than it actually—"

"Maya!" Phoenix's eyes have finally landed on Clay—on the bloody rent in the medium's robes. Dropping his briefcase, Phoenix sprints the short distance and slides onto his knees in front of his friend.

Clay doesn't have to be asked to step out of Maya's body. He knows when it's time to leave. Pearl has set up at least a little bit of protection, and so long as Clay stays near Apollo, he figures it'll be hard for anything to grab him.

Maya tips forward as soon as Clay leaves her body, falling right into Phoenix's arms. She blinks and stirs immediately, though, pushing herself up against him, wincing as her left arm refuses to take her weight. "Nick? Did we do it? Did I get him?"

It's Lang who answers rather than Phoenix, the werewolf's eyes flashing bright as he looks at Clay. "You got him. He's here with us."

"Oh good." Maya sighs, settling back into Phoenix's arms. "Man, Nick, it has been a long day."

"What _happened_?" Phoenix looks between Maya and Klavier. "Is Klavier all right? What—who—you're still _bleeding_ , we need to get you to a hospital—do we need to call that werewolf vet for him again?"

Apollo has dropped back down to a sitting position, is holding Klavier's still form with the rest of the pack gathered around them. "I... think he'll be okay, with a little time to rest. He just..."

Apollo's voice cracks, and Maya picks up the thread of the explanation. "Clay was captured, being held somewhere I couldn't reach him. We summoned Kristoph in an attempt to get answers. It... went about as well as you had predicted."

Phoenix's whole body tenses, bowing away from Maya, from Apollo, from all of them. "You..."

"We didn't have a whole lot of options." Lang pushes his way to his feet. "And though we're a little battered and bloody things aren't _so_ much worse for wear. One of us needs to take Ms. Fey to get stitched up. The pack needs to stay by Klavier—it'll help him heal better. One of us needs to contact Navon, make sure arrangements for the conclave tomorrow are going well. And one of us..." Lang's gaze finds Clay's form again. "Needs to talk with Mr. Terran and get as much information from him as we can."

Phoenix opens his mouth, and Clay expects a protest, but after looking down at Maya what comes out is, "I'll take her. The rest of you sort out the werewolf business. And getting the blood out of Edgeworth's carpet."

Lang pulls out a cell phone. "I'll call Navon, and talk with any alphas who are being difficult. You guys good with the debriefing?"

Apollo gives a curt nod, and Clay settles down cross-legged next to the pack, trying to sort out anything important he heard during his captivity.

XXX

Maya cradles her left arm close to her chest. When they walked into the emergency room with her robes obviously covered in blood, a paramedic had undone Lang's field dressing and immediately redone it—with less skill, Maya thinks. At least the paramedic's dressing _hurt_ more, though to be fair that might have been a lack of adrenaline when the clearly-harassed emergency personnel did it versus when Lang was working.

Nick sits glowering in a chair at the other end of the room. Though maybe glowering isn't the proper word. He isn't frowning.

He isn't looking at her at all, staring fixedly at the floor as he has for the last half hour.

How long are they going to make her sit here? Once they determined she wasn't going to bleed to death, the paramedics deposited her in a little room made from a larger room by the use of white medical curtains and said the doctors would be with her shortly.

Clearly _shortly_ has a different meaning here than it does in the real world.

"Nick." There's more of a plaintive note than she had intended in Maya's voice.

It does what she wanted, at least. It jars Nick from his melancholic revelry, his midnight-blue eyes rising to finally look at her again.

"I'm sorry." Maya lowers her head. It isn't an intentional move—perhaps she's been spending too much time among Moon people, to be picking up some of their quirks.

Nick draws a deep breath, and then gives a quick nod, his eyes returning to the floor.

All right. This just isn't going to be tolerable. "Just because I'm sorry we didn't tell you doesn't mean I'm sorry we did it, though."

That jars Nick's head back up, his eyes moving until his glare stabs at her bandaged arm. "You could have _died_. I _told_ you not to call him. I told you how dangerous he was—"

"And you were right. He's a dangerous, vicious asshole, hopefully made worse in death than he was in life because _yowch_ if that's how he's always been it's amazing Apollo and Klavier are as sane as they are." Maya draws a deep breath. "He was also our best chance of getting Clay back in one piece, and it worked. So. I'm sorry I got hurt, and sorry this is rough on you, but I'm glad I did it."

"Clay's a _ghost_." Nick's jaw clenches so hard Maya worries some of his teeth might break, the sentence coming out snarled between gritted incisors.

"Yes. He's a spirit." Maya catches and holds Nick's gaze with her own. " _Just_ a spirit. If our enemies do something that breaks him, Nick, it breaks _him_. Not a body, _him_. His essence. I could do something to try to help—to keep Apollo from having to mourn _again_. To keep Apollo from having to mourn for the _unfathomable_. And if you're really going to begrudge me a little scratch when the alternative was something like _that_ , then—"

Then she's going to have to stop, because Nick has doubled over, his hands both in front of his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming in short, sharp pants that sound painful.

Well, shit.

Standing up hurriedly, Maya hooks an ankle around one of the legs of her chair and drags it over to sit crookedly beside Nick's. Dropping down into it, she reaches out with her right hand, resting it on Nick's shivering shoulder.

"Hey, there." Rubbing her hand in a small circle, Maya forces a smile. "Come on, now. Everything's all right."

Nick's hands drop away from his mouth, dangling between his knees as he gets his breathing somewhat under control. "Sorry. I just... it's supposed to be _over_. Everything with Kristoph is supposed to be _done_ , and the idea of him possessing you, _hurting_ you... what if things hadn't gone the way they did? What if instead of your arm he..."

Nick raises his face, and Maya can see the shimmer of tears over his eyes.

A shiver runs up and down Maya's body as she allows herself to envision what Nick is—him coming home to find her bleeding out, her throat cut like some kind of sacrificial lamb. _Could_ Kristoph have done it? The body's self-preservation instinct is one of the hardest for a ghost to overcome, especially if the medium is in good mental health, which Maya likes to think she is. "I didn't _want_ to end up like this, Nick. If I could have thought of another way to get the information we needed... a way where I _didn't_ open myself up to a murderous monster... all the showers in the world aren't going to be enough to make me feel clean for a while."

She will see the cut on her arm when she undresses for at least a week, probably two; how long will there be a scar there? For the rest of her life?

Nick's arm snakes across her shoulders, his touch hesitant, uncertain, as though he doesn't know whether he'll be rejected or not.

Seeing no reason to prolong either of their discomfort, Maya leans into his embrace, allowing the warmth of his protectiveness to wash over her.

"I'm sorry." Nick's words are ragged with weariness and guilt. "If I had known how this would turn out, I never would have called you down."

Maya smacks him in the side with her good fist, though she doesn't pull away from his embrace. "If you hadn't called me, you guys would be in even more trouble. At least this way you've got a chance of getting answers and holding your own against ghosts."

Nick gives a low, hollow laugh. "It doesn't feel that way. It feels like for every little step of forward progress we make, the bad guys take a half dozen. It feels like we're under-powered and out-numbered and so far out of our depth knowledge wise we don't even know where to start looking, and I..." Nick shivers, his arm tightening around her as he blinks back what she knows are more tears.

Maya hasn't seen him this distraught in... well, in a long time. Possibly since his disbarring. There were bad times after the Shadi Smith trial, sure, and the culmination of the Phantom case had involved several long, painful phone calls as well as some late-night talks over the holidays, but this is Nick stretched to the edge of his endurance.

"Did it really..." Maya swallows. "It really bothers you that much that I did this without your permission? That I got hurt?"

"Not just that you got hurt, though that's..." Nick draws a sharp breath in through his nose. "I've watched Apollo turn into a wolf more times than I can count now. I spent an afternoon watching Klavier's humanity seem to slowly self-destruct, an eloquent young man turning into a snarling monster consumed by pain. I've had the pleasure of watching two young women I care about deeply and an old friend _choose_ the same pain and disorientation. My _daughter_ wants it. And then, just when I'm starting to think things are going to be all right..." Nick gives a hoarse laugh. "When Gavin got shot, it was like someone strung live wires through Apollo. He _hurt_ so much and I could see it and I couldn't _do_ anything for him. Then Mia says to call you, and the first thing that happens is you get cut up by _Kristoph Gavin's ghost—_ "

"It's been a lot." Maya gives Nick another gentle shove. "We've been through a lot before. Just take a deep breath and do what my sister would have done."

"Your sister would have had things under _control_." Nick's free hand forms into a fist, slamming down on his knee.

"And _that's_ the real problem, isn't it?" Maya sighs, leaning more heavily against her friend as she prepares to tell him what he probably already knows and almost certainly won't want to admit. "You're upset because I did this without asking you. Because I took control away from you."

Nick doesn't say anything, but his jaw clenches tighter.

"Nick..." Groping for the right words, Maya lays her hand on his knee again. "You're right that you're in way, way over your head on this. You didn't know the bloodlines _existed_ until a month ago. But you know who _did_? Lang did. _I_ did. We know what we're doing. And yeah, some of it's dangerous. But Pearl and I _get_ this danger. You don't have to be there micro-managing it and in total control because _this is what we do_."

"I just..." The arm that isn't around her shoulders moves to touch the clean white bandaging around her injured forearm. "If _this_ is what happens because of what you do..."

"It's not what usually happens, any more than what we went through during the DL-6 case is what happens during a normal trial."

The ghost of a smile finally touches Nick's lips. "Well..."

Maya grins back, giving him another little shove. "And everything you've said about the Moon people... I know there's a lot more to it than that. I know there's a lot of _good_ that can come with that bloodline. All the bloodlines have a positive and a negative side. And Trucy's smart enough not to want something that's only going to bring her pain."

"Yeah. I know." With a deep sigh most of the tension seems to ease out of Phoenix's body. "And I know I'm being obsessive and controlling. It's... hard still, sometimes. To let others in. To let others have the full picture and control of what happens."

"I know. That's why I try to tell you when you're being a little bit of a Chariot freak."

Slouching back in his chair, Nick groans. "Please tell me you're not going to start throwing bloodlines references into everything like it's the new Steel Samurai."

"Hey, I've got to teach it to you somehow, and it worked with getting you a half-functional knowledge of the Steel Samurai." Maya sticks out her tongue.

"You and Edgeworth double-teaming me for years until I eventually got Stockholm syndrome and decided to give the shows a try is what got me fluent in Steel Samurai lingo." This time Nick's smile is a little bit wider, a little bit more honest. "And can I infer from context that a Chariot is someone who doesn't like giving up control?"

"A Chariot is someone who's all about will and victory and establishing control over a situation. To the point that they're supposedly able to brainwash other people with remarkable efficacy as well as control their own emotional responses to a degree that would make a Vulcan proud."

Nick groans. "I already gave in on the Steel Samurai. Stop trying to make me like every speculative fiction franchise of the last century."

"It's not _every_ one, just the good ones." Maya sits up a bit straighter. "Besides, even someone living under a rock knows what a Vulcan is. It's just part of the cultural miasma, along with the dysfunctional family that is the Skywalkers."

Putting a finger to his lips, Nick draws both his eyebrows sharply down. "Shh, Maya! Spoilers!"

Maya can't help but laugh—the first time she's laughed since calling Kristoph's ghost, and it lifts a bit of gloom from her soul that she hadn't noticed was there.

Nick's smile is finally _his_ again as he listens to her laugh, open and honest even if it still isn't quite as bright as it would have been before everything eight years ago. "You're really all right? He didn't somehow... I don't know... infect you, or..."

Maya shakes her head. "That's not how the Priestess bloodline works. Even if he _does_ apparently have some Lovers blood in him, channeling is all _my_ bloodline. That bond is under my control, not his. And given that Klavier shares his bloodline and has the pack to draw on, I doubt he'll have been able to do anything there, either."

Nick's mouth drops open, all the humor and most of the color draining from his face. "He possessed Klavier, too?"

"Yeah." Maya gives his leg a gentle little pat. "This is what happens when you mope instead of asking questions. He was possessing me, and threatening to hurt me. Klavier figured out that if he could trick Kristoph into his body, the pack bonds with Apollo and the others would make Kristoph vulnerable. It worked. We got the information we needed to save Clay."

"I..." Nick draws in a slow breath. "I'm not saying this to try to be controlling, but if you could _please_ wait until I'm around or at least, like... text me when something big like this is going down?"

Maya considers for a moment and then gives a decisive nod. "As long as no one's going to die, I think I can try to do that."

"Good." Nick gives her shoulder a little pat. "Because I just hate missing out on all the fun."

Giving a little snort of laughter of her own, Maya shifts her injured arm, trying to find a position where it throbs the least. "In return, you'll tell me as soon as something interesting's happening. Okay?"

"Okay." Nick sighs. "For the record, there's interesting—if by interesting you mean horrifying and potentially lethal—things happening."

Maya gives a more full-throated laugh. "I'll be sure to put it on my calendar."

"And assuming we survive this and the Moon crew all makes it through their change..." Nick slouches further down in his chair. "Someone's supposed to be coming to talk to Apollo and Trucy. And... it might be good if you're around to help defuse things."

"Wow." Maya blinks. "Nothing's ever easy around you guys, is it?"

Nick gives her a tired, weary smile. "I'd say welcome to my life, but you've been stuck here for a decade."

Patting his knee, Maya settles back in her own chair. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

The silence now as they wait for the doctor to come is companionable, and Maya hopes that everything at home is settling down just as well.

XXX

"...sure he's going to be all right?" Sebastian's voice is anxious, low and rough.

"Lang says he is. Navon agreed over the phone that he's probably going to be just fine." Ema sounds calmer, though there is a note of uncertainty in her voice, too. "That as long as he's stable, being around the pack should be enough to get him healed up."

Klavier realizes that his hair is loose because someone is threading their fingers through it, a steady, beautiful rhythm that he wants to continue. His body feels... loose, disconnected, not quite _real_ despite how lovely the feel of fingers against his scalp is—against his calves, too, someone has removed his boots and is massaging gently at the sore calf muscles of his injured leg.

"Klavier?" Sebastian's head must be right by Klavier's ear, because he can feel a warm breath of air, smell something that is definitely meat but doesn't quite match beef or chicken.

It must be Ema down at his feet, because the massaging stops as she speaks. "You actually waking up this time, Gavin?"

 _Gavin_.

The name is like a flail, urging him into full consciousness—urging him upright, though his body's sense of balance is woefully lacking and the attempt at jumping to his feet ends up as more of a staggering collapse back onto the mattress.

Back into Ema and Sebastian's hands, and he has a brief glimpse of their concerned faces before his vision tunnels out to black.

He doesn't _quite_ pass out, because he can hear them debating whether they should go get Apollo while his breath shudders in his throat and his heart pounds rabbit-quick in his chest. Silly—all of this is incredibly _silly_ and not actually helpful, and Klavier grabs control of his breathing, slowing the rhythm, forcing air to fill his chest instead of just stuttering in and out of his throat in useless puffs. If he were going on stage or into court, he would need to have control. He would need to be able to breathe deeply and evenly, even if his lungs don't want to behave, and project his voice, even if he's sick.

Having his breathing back under control helps slow his heart rate, and Klavier is eventually able to blink heavy, swollen-feeling eyelids open.

Sebastian is sitting at his right hand, his eyes darting between Klavier and the door; Ema is sitting at his left hand, a strip of some kind of jerky hanging from her mouth and the fingers of her right hand fixed at the pulse point in his left wrist.

Klavier tries to say _hallo_ , but the sounds that come out are more like a breathless wheeze.

"Klavier?" Sebastian leans closer, peering into Klavier's eyes. His scent wafts over Klavier, sharp with the sour tang of fear.

His _fear_ washes over Klavier, traveling along whatever lines it is that Klavier has opened between the pack. Ema's concern follows, a more controlled version of Sebastian's fear, one that is cut with trust—in Lang, in Navon—and what is perhaps a bit more than a healthy dose of curiosity.

It would be easy to dive beyond what they are projecting—beyond what tingles at their fingertips, bright as the sun where they touch him. He suspects neither of them would appreciate it, though, and he's not certain _he_ really wants to, his sense of self still not quite feeling... right.

Blinking furiously, he forces his vision to focus, his mouth and throat to work in concert as they're supposed to. He is a performer, _ja_? He must not disappoint his audience. "Try... this again. _Hallo_ , my—"

Sebastian disappears, leaning out of Klavier's still slightly blurry range of vision. Before Klavier can figure out if he's got enough control of his arms and legs to go looking for him, the man is back, holding one of Edgeworth's tea mugs carefully. From the moisture condensed on the sides and the clicks as it sloshes, Klavier suspects it isn't holding tea right now.

Ema's arm slides behind Klavier's shoulders, hauling him up into a sitting position leaning against her. "Here we go. Let's get a little liquid into you and see if you sound less like a dying dog that way."

Klavier considers protesting, but Sebastian looks so earnest and careful as he lifts the mug to Klavier's lips that he decides against it. Besides, he'd probably still sound awful, and giving Ema more ammunition to use against him is not his intention.

The liquid feels delightful as it slides down his throat, and Klavier manages to lift his right hand to help guide and tilt the mug, though his fingers shake like cat tails in a hurricane as he tries to make them do their job.

Ema taps Sebastian on the shoulder and he pulls the mug away, earning a very undignified whimper from Klavier as the liquid disappears.

"Sorry." Ema doesn't sound sorry in the least. "I just don't cherish the thought of you vomiting on us, which is what will happen if you keep guzzling it like that. Give your body a minute or two to catch up, and we'll let you have some more."

"Vicious... taskmaster." Klavier manages to cross both arms in front of his chest, appalled at how utterly weak and disoriented he feels.

"Yep, utterly despicable and cruel." Relief hums through Ema's words, through her scent, through her _soul_ , and Klavier forces his eyes to stay open, his focus to stay on what he can _see_ and not what he can feel. "It's good to have you back. You gave us a bit of a scare there. A couple times over. If we could not do that again, Gavin, I'd—"

 _Gavin_. That name again— _his_ name, but also _Kristoph's_ name, and he remembers once more exactly what he did. Exactly _why_ his body feels stretched and _wrong_ , not quite following his commands appropriately, and he needs to know what happened after he passed out.

His hands have both moved to Ema's arm, grasping more tightly than he intended. "Clay—my brother—"

Ema takes his right hand in hers, applying firm but gentle pressure until he releases her sleeve. "Clay's back with us. Last I heard he was with Apollo. Your brother hasn't been... we don't know what happened after we drove him out of you."

A soft, half-strangled sob catches Klavier's attention, and he turns his head to see Sebastian mopping frantically at his eyes, his face red with the work of holding back tears.

Klavier doesn't think before moving. He just _acts_ , needing to be at Sebastian's side, providing him comfort, _protecting_ him, and even if his body doesn't quite want to follow orders the wolf's burning drive is enough to get him where he needs to go.

It's more Sebastian hugging him, when all is said and done, but he still has his arms around Sebastian, his nose nuzzling at Sebastian's neck as Sebastian turns his head in submission, and that's the important thing.

Well... part of that is important. Part of it is a Moon-drive that Klavier is going to have to examine more closely, because the last thing he wants is to curb Sebastian's independence. Given the way Sebastian is responding to him, though, pulling him close, Klavier hopes it isn't going to be a problem.

"You _i-i-idiot_ , I thought—" Sebastian gasps in a sobbing breath, his hands clutching at Klavier's black shirt—an _untorn_ black shirt, Klavier notes, meaning someone dressed him after he passed out. "Seeing your b-brother—and then you just _d-dropped—_ and when we were reaching for C-Clay I could _feel—_ "

One of Ema's hands lands on Sebastian's shoulder; the other touches Klavier's. "It's been kind of a long day for all of us. Did you two want me to go tell the others Klavier's awake? Give you a chance to..."

Klavier manages to lift one hand and place it atop Ema's, though it takes him three tries. Closing his eyes, he reaches out to the pack—to Apollo and Athena and Gumshoe—letting them know he's all right.

A top-hatted figure appears in the doorway a moment later, and Trucy gives them a little wave. "It's really good to know you're all right, Klavier. Though that was a little _weird_ and you might want to give people some warning before you do it. Lang jumped like three feet in the air."

"Tell him _Verzeihung_ from me. I meant only to send to the pack, not to you and him as well." Klavier lifts his right hand to his forehead, rubbing briefly at the skin as though that could help him figure out the strange, pulsing knot of impressions and emotions that is his pack and those close to them.

"No problem." Trucy flashes him a victory sign, her eyes drifting to Sebastian's still-sobbing form as she does. "I'll go tell the others things're good, and we'll see you when you're ready."

"S-sorry." Sebastian continues to scrub at his eyes. "I j-just—I—"

"It's all right, Herr Erste." Klavier's throat is starting to get dry again, and there is a plate of meat somewhere in the room, the scent making his mouth water, but he forces his attention to stay on his friend. Forces his attention to stay on the _physical_ , because he suspects any more weirdness or anomalies will only make Sebastian more distraught. "I'm fine, you're fine—"

Sebastian manages to get his tears to slow enough so he can glare at Klavier. "We're _w-werewolves_. And you c-can't even stand up."

"I could too. Probably." Klavier shifts as his wounded hip sends out an unhappy throb. At least his shoulder seems to have finished healing while he was out. "If I needed to."

Sebastian's right hand snags in Klavier's shirt, and he leans forward, resting his head on Klavier's shoulder. "It's just... been a lot. And I n-need... a minute."

"We have it." Klavier casts a look over his shoulder at Ema. "I think?"

"We do." Ema gives a tired smile. "We've got a whole evening, provided nothing else awful happens. The alpha conclave's tomorrow morning—everyone's agreed to come. We can talk to Rex and Pot and try to figure out what's going on. Well... Apollo can. You—"

"I'm going." Klavier speaks the words quietly, evenly, but with the weight of all his certainty and authority in them. "I'll be good by then. I just... also need a few minutes, to remember... how things are supposed to go."

To remind his body who controls it, to determine what strained and stretched muscles he should be favoring and which Kristoph didn't injure in his fight against the pack.

(He _let_ Kristoph in. It was the only thing to do, the only thing he could think of that would protect those dependent on them and give Apollo a chance of getting the answers he needed, but Klavier knows he will be seeing his brother looking out of his eyes for weeks to come.)

"You were so brave." Sebastian's breathing is largely under control now, and he lifts his head, swiping once more at his eyes. "Stupid, but brave."

"I like to think it was all bravery." Klavier adopts his best pout, looking around for where Sebastian set down the water glass.

They're on a mattress on the floor in one of Edgeworth's spare bedrooms. It's one of the mattresses from last night, Klavier realizes, the blankets and sheets on it still smelling very much of the pack. (Also of blood—his blood—but it doesn't bother him much.) The water glass is on the floor next to Sebastian, but before Klavier can figure out if he feels coordinated enough to reach for it Sebastian is already lifting it to Klavier's mouth.

Klavier takes another long, grateful drink, stopping before Ema can tell him he needs to.

Ema scoots a plate heaped with jerky out from under a table, settling it in front of their trio. "Mountain goat, apparently. Lang knows some weird people."

Klavier tries to connect those two phrases in a way that makes sense and quickly decides it's probably best to either ask or ignore it. Reaching down towards the plate, he manages to snag two pieces of meat and sit back up without anything _too_ catastrophic happening. " _Danke._ "

"You're welcome." Ema flashes him one of her rare smiles as she snags another piece for herself. "Navon and Lang both say you should eat. A lot."

Klavier sighs. "Navon is trying to make me fat."

"No, Navon is trying to have you not starve to death while you push your body's healing abilities to the limit and ramp all of our metabolisms up doing it." Ema scoots the plate closer to him. "On the plus side, it's been a really effective diet for all of us. On the minus side, it's _stupid_ , and if you don't eat all of that I'll make sure to _tell_ you how stupid it is in mathematical detail for the next few hours."

"You can be very cruel." Klavier reaches down and snags another piece of meat, hoping none of the others notice how much his mouth waters or that his hand is still shaking badly as he manages to guide the morsel to his mouth.

"Hideously cruel." Ema rests her head on his shoulder, and Klavier rubs his chin against her cheek, welcoming and grateful.

Sebastian makes a little hiccuping sound, and Klavier realizes exactly how _inhuman_ the move must have looked. Swallowing a piece of meat that suddenly tastes and feels far too much like lead, Klavier nods towards the mug still in Sebastian's hand. "More, please?"

Sebastian helps him drink, and Ema regains her composure, testing to make sure Klavier can stay sitting upright under his own power before scooting a little bit away.

Continuing to work at his pieces of meat, his sense of where his body is in space returning with every moment he's awake, Klavier looks between his two friends. "Did I miss much?"

Sebastian's face becomes ghost-white, his eyes dropping to his hands.

A wave of guilt and grief and _fear_ rolls along their bond, and the remaining jerky drops from Klavier's hand as he scrambles forward, pulling the other man against him. A low growl rumbles in his chest, directed at an unseen enemy.

"It's all right! It's fine. _I'm_ fine."

Klavier realizes belatedly that Sebastian is trying to both reassure him and skitter back out of his embrace, and he forces his hands to release their hold.

A wave of vertigo twists his vision into downward spirals, nausea following hard on its wake, and Klavier doubles over, hoping he's not going to embarrass himself by throwing up.

"Easy there." Two sets of arms wrap around him, Ema's voice whispering quietly in his ear. "You pushed yourself _way_ beyond your limits, Klavier. You need to give yourself a chance to recover."

Klavier swallows, blinking until the pattern on the blanket beneath him becomes a comprehensible series of swirls again. "I can... recover and listen... at the same time."

Sebastian's hand is shaking, his face contorted into a mask of misery. "It's fine. It's just—"

"The Chariot who was supposed to brainwash Clay was named Blaise DeBeste." Ema's voice cuts over Sebastian's ragged protests, delivering the information that Klavier needs.

Information that causes Sebastian to cringe back, his head dropping, _pain_ sliding along their bond—his _head_ hurts, and his _joints_ hurt, and he's going to—

"Oh, hell." Ema's voice drips pain, too. " _Athena!_ "

Klavier manages to raise his head, reaching out with one arm to snag Sebastian closer to him, his eyes fixed on the door to the room.

Athena appears in the doorway, her hands covered in flour that she hastily wipes off on her skirt as she darts towards them. At first Klavier thinks she's going to grab Sebastian, force him to give her a hand or place her palm against his cheek; instead she pauses just in front of them. "Sebastian. Is it all right if I touch you?"

Sebastian hesitates just for a moment and then thrusts his right hand out towards Athena.

Settling down cross-legged on the floor in front of the mattress, Athena takes Sebastian's hand in hers, her fingers trailing over his knuckles. "It's all right. You've got control over this. It's scary, but you're here with people who care about you, and the transformation isn't going to change anything important about _you_."

Klavier can feel Sebastian's body relax against him, hear the lessening of strain in Sebastian's breathing... feel the fiery burn drop away, bit by bit, calm and _balance_ spreading out from where Athena's hands grip his.

Drawing a deep, slow breath, Sebastian nods, slowly disentangling his fingers from Athena's. "I'm all right. Thanks. Sorry."

Athena smiles. "No need to be sorry. This is tough for everyone."

As if to emphasize the point—which, given Ema, it probably is—Ema thrusts her hand toward Athena.

A grin flashes across Athena's face as she takes Ema's hands in hers, and Klavier can feel a wall of tension ease its way out of Ema's body, too. Sighing, Ema leans her head against Klavier's shoulder, though her words are directed at Athena. "I would complain about how unfair it is that you can do that, but I'm too busy enjoying it right now."

Athena shrugs. "I'm not doing anything you couldn't do on your own. I'm just... helping it along."

Klavier studies the young woman. "With your bloodline?"

Looking down at her own hands, Athena nods. "Strength, probably. According to Maya's book. Which is crazy, because Strength has been missing for a few centuries, but..."

"Soft control." Sebastian looks down at his own hands. "The complement to Chariot's power. You don't force or compel; you help someone find what's already there. You guide to the truth instead of..."

"Oh, Sebastian." Klavier wraps his arms around Sebastian as best he can, though between his own weakness and Sebastian's rigid, stiff body it's difficult. "No matter what your father might be or have done—"

"We don't even know if it _is_ your father's ghost." Ema pulls Klavier away from Sebastian, her hands firm and steady despite the harsh growl that bubbles up in Klavier's throat. Thrusting a handful of meat into his hands, Ema stares into Klavier's eyes, willing him to stay put—to stay _human_ , in mind as well as body—while they talk. "It could be a distant cousin or some such."

Sebastian laughs, but it's a low, hollow, rough sound. "I... suppose it's possible. But you didn't _know_ my father, Ema. Not really. He..."

"What he was and what you are have nothing to do with each other." Widget glows a fierce, bright red on Athena's chest—not anger directed towards any of them, Klavier can sense. Just a deep frustration at the whole situation and how it has hurt people.

Sebastian flinches back, his head ducking down. Without thinking Klavier reaches out to him, wanting to comfort and reassure. Sebastian leans toward his shaking hand... and then abruptly away, the man's whole body shivering minutely.

Klavier tries not to let it hurt. Sebastian has never been a very physical person, though Klavier is one of the few that he normally relaxes his guard around. And Klavier _knows_ how disconcerting the abrupt transformation can be—remembers retreating out of the house when Edgeworth and Wright looked at him oddly for phrases or movements that were more _wolf_ than _wer_ the day after Gitarre woke.

Athena's fingers wrap around his cold, shaking ones, and Klavier looks over into understanding eyes. There is no pain of transformation for her to push back, no precarious balance between wolf and human for her to help him find with a touch. He has already found his own equilibrium, for better and for worse. There is still comfort in the touch, though—comfort for both man and wolf, Gitarre not understanding why Sebastian doesn't want what affection and safety they can offer.

"Easy there." Ema loops an arm around Klavier's chest, leaning his weight against her side again. Her eyes flick past him, to Sebastian. "Both of you."

Burying his face in his palms for a moment, Sebastian gives a brief, tight nod. His breath shudders in his throat for a moment... and then evens out, his hands dropping to reveal bloodshot, red, but dry eyes. "I'm okay. We'll be okay. But... yes. Clay brought us a lot of information. About Blaise DeBeste." Sebastian's voice still shakes on the name, and there is a little flare of pain from him, but a glance between him and Athena seems all that's needed to settle it down. "About your brother—unfortunately not much we didn't already know from Kristoph himself. And a little about the people Kristoph took him to. They're apparently waiting for some kind of messianic figure—the World bloodline, I think he said. Pearl almost jumped out of her skin when she heard."

Klavier arches both eyebrows. "And what does that have to do with us?"

Athena shrugs. "Apparently they don't like Apollo being a werewolf and having a pack and Knowing Things. They're worried he's going to get in their way. So they tried to proactively get in ours."

"Well." Klavier manages to chew and swallow one of the meat pieces. "That was probably not their first mistake, but it's definitely one of their largest."

"Definitely." Athena flashes him a bright, fierce smile, and it takes a greater act of will than Klavier thought it would not to go delving beneath it, pulling on their bond until he sees exactly what emotions have been mixed into it.

Ema's hand slaps gently against his shoulder, jarring him back into the body that _almost_ fits right now. "What about you? Learn anything we should know?"

"I..." Klavier allows his memories to drift back, slowly approaching the minutes of agonized disorientation that were Kristoph's possession. "I saw... what we are. Him and me. _Liebhaber_. Lovers. We can... control bonds..."

Kristoph had used it against him, their shared blood and history a doorway he could use to slide out of the medium's body and into Klavier's skin. Kristoph had thrown down memories like freezing chains, tying Klavier helpless in the dark—the memory of Kristoph's hands on his arms as his older brother helped him learn to ride a bike becoming a torrent of ice to peel Klavier away from control of his own fingers, the memory of Kristoph hugging him after Klavier was accepted into Themis a frozen bludgeon to separate him from use of his legs, so _many_ memories and emotions that Kristoph could use against him—

And the pack, calling him back to himself. Doing what he had hoped and prayed they would be able to do, binding Kristoph in the ties that Klavier has happily chosen, and did he see _more_ than Kristoph wanted him to see?

He saw how to help Apollo rescue Clay. He saw how to bind the pack's wills together, their _strength_ together, and pull Clay back to them. More than that...

Klavier blinks, realizing too late that he has closed his eyes—that he is _shivering_ , violent, convulsive shudders of his whole body. Ema is leaning more heavily against him; Athena has bent forward, gathering his hands into hers. Even Sebastian has moved closer, his hands both touching Klavier's right arm, his eyes wide with concern.

" _Nichts_. A bit... about what we are. Enough to do what I did for Clay." Klavier runs a tongue over lips that feel chapped and taste like blood and slat. "But nothing else useful."

"Hey, we saved Clay and Maya." Athena releases his hands, patting his legs as she does. "That's plenty useful."

"Yeah. You don't have to solve _all_ the problems by yourself." Ema rocks him back and forth before releasing his shoulders, picking up the plate of jerky at their feet and depositing it in his lap. "No more doing anything strenuous until you eat and drink the rest of this, though."

"Right." Klavier looks down at the plate of meat and sighs.

Sebastian's fingers finds their way into Klavier's right hand, the touch far, far too comforting, and it takes all Klavier's control not to grasp on tight and refuse to let go. That's not what Sebastian needs. Sebastian needs just enough protection to let him stand on his own feet, and someone to walk beside him as he does.

Klavier _knows_ that. Klavier has _done_ that, for the last few years. And he's not going to let any silly little Moon puppy in his brain make him forget it.

The three of them stay by his side, warm, calming, _comforting_ , and Klavier forces misbehaving fingers to do their job and bring sustenance to his body.

There are other things he needs to do, after all—other people he needs to see—and it would be nice if he could stand up without toppling over when he goes about his tasks.


	12. Chapter 12: Gathering Forces

_**Chapter Twelve: Gathering Forces**_

Apollo finishes one more circuit around Edgeworth's house, trying to move like he belongs here—like he is a _human_ that belongs here, rather than a werewolf stalking with hackles raised around his territory.

Given how well it feels like he's doing... hopefully if any of Edgeworth's neighbors call in a strange man skulking around the Chief Prosecutor's house Edgeworth will be able to defuse the situation before it goes any further.

This isn't even _his_ territory, after all. It is very much _not_ his territory, and he suspects Prosecutor Edgeworth would be _upset_ and do his funny little eyebrow twitch if he realized Apollo was thinking of it as his territory. (But it is the place where Apollo's people are gathered, and even though the pack could probably head to Klavier's house now moving everyone when they're already settled in for _stupid wolf territory_ reasons is... unreasonable.)

Apollo has come around to the back of the house now, to the sheltered and well-manicured little garden area. Hopefully he can manage to sit still for more than three minutes this time without checking the perimeter again.

It doesn't take much to pull up enough wolf energy to shift Clay into visibility. The wolf is straining at Apollo's control, in all honesty, a combination of the moon and stress and all that has happened tipping him more and more towards his four-legged body.

Clay notices that he is being watched and pulls a hand from his coat pocket, waving. "Are you sure it's a good idea to keep trying to balance on that mental cliff?"

Apollo shrugs, his voice rougher than normal when he manages to draw up human words. "I like seeing that you're all right."

"I'm _fine_." Clay rolls his eyes. "It was scary and weird and is not an experience I'm eager to sign up for again—hence why I am staying on _this_ side of Pearl's little protective ring around the house—but I'm really okay. Promise."

"I believe you. I just—" He just can't speak, human words disappearing, a need to _hold_ and _touch_ and _smell_ rearing up to take its place.

Sitting down abruptly, Apollo wraps his arms around his chest, forcing himself to breathe slowly, to ignore the sparks trying to build into a storm in all his joints. "I'm Apollo Justice, and I'm _human_."

After far too long the tingling, twitching sensation of muscles trying to realign themselves into a quadrupedal form dies down, and Apollo manages to uncurl a bit. He can no longer see Clay, but he doesn't dare call up his power again, not when his control is hanging by such a tenuous thread.

"It might help if you Change."

Lang's voice is completely unexpected, and Apollo jumps, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a snarl as he spins to face the Interpol agent.

Holding up his hands in a human gesture of peace, Lang turns his head to the left, avoiding eye contact while also refusing to bow in submission. "Or go see your beta. I promise Piano Pup's gonna be just fine, provided he doesn't pull another stunt like this before he lets himself finish healing."

"You can't promise that." Apollo tries to school his expression down into something more human—something more calm, and more grateful for Lang's presence than he feels.

"Maybe not." Lang shrugs. "But I can also promise that you're not going to make anything better pacing around out here, and if you're having that much trouble with your control..."

Apollo's jaw clenches tight. "I'm doing _fine_."

"No, you're not." The calm appraisal in Lang's tone is somehow infuriating. "You're doing decently _for the circumstances_ , for a new alpha with a pack facing a lot of changes and challenges who's had two of his people badly threatened in less than a day. But doing decently just means you're not gnawing on the ankles of everyone who's not pack, and I'd like to see you _really_ doing all right."

"Oh? And why's _that_?" Apollo can't help the acid in his tone. "Because we're _special_? Because we're _interesting_?"

"Because some of your pack's my friends." Lang bites out the words, his head snapping up just a bit higher, though he still keeps his eyes turned away from Apollo's. "Because I like to think that you and I could be friends, if we ever get to see each other when you're not at the end of your endurance. And _yes_ , because you're important. Because word of you and Piano Pup's already spreading out, and if the two of you do _well_ , it'll mean a hell of a lot to other double-gifted and night-cursed. But if you crash and burn..."

Apollo turns away, his shoulders hunching, a low, frustrated growl rumbling in his chest. "This isn't the first time I've been held up as an _example_ of a class of people no one expects to succeed."

"Yeah? Yeah, I imagine it isn't." Lang doesn't come any closer. "An orphaned boy trying desperately to be a defense attorney... to be a _good_ one, no moral compromise... I imagine you got a lot of people interested."

He got enough people interested—was able to write sophisticated enough letters, just the right amount of hope and humility, to earn himself scholarship money. How many times was he asked to go speak to other orphans? To present himself as a role model?

Hugging his arms around his chest, Apollo allows his head to lower. He doesn't _want_ to be an example for anyone right now. He doesn't feel _up_ to it, his soul still feeling too raw and wounded. (He'd thought he was doing _better_ , that he had started to _accept_ Clay's death, but having Clay in the hands of the enemy... seeing Kristoph speaking out of Klavier's mouth...)

"It's not fair. I know that." Lang still doesn't come closer, though his voice is all compassion. "Being a leader never is. But it's what you _are_ , Firebolt. What you did with that ghost... what you and Klavier wove when you brought Terran back to your side... I've never seen anything like it. You're an alpha like no other, and people are going to be watching you."

"People are trying to _kill_ me." The words come out harsh, bearing too much of the wolf again. "Just for existing. They're trying to kill me and Klavier and Clay and the rest of the pack and we haven't even _done_ anything yet."

"So do something. Make them regret it." Lang has stepped closer, his voice dropped to more of a growl. "There's a reason self-fulfilling prophesies are such a hit. It's satisfying to make someone pay for what they _thought_ you were going to do."

"How?" Apollo spins back around, and the hoarseness in his voice is all human now. "Take them to court? Have Klavier prosecute them for shooting him? Have _you_ lock them up for terrorism? Tell the world that they tried to brainwash my ghost-friend?"

Lang's eyes meet his, a brief, compassionate glance before he looks the other way. "There's a reason most of the bloodlines have their own ideas of justice."

"I can't just _kill_ someone." Except he could, he thinks. If he gets the people who wanted to hurt Clay in his hands, the people who arranged for Klavier to be shot—if he has a chance to rip Kristoph Gavin's ghost limb from cursed limb—

Lang shrugs. "We can figure out how to deal with them once we know who we're dealing with and have them in custody."

"That's not an answer!" Apollo's words echo back to him, and he paces away from Lang, knowing that he will need to watch how loudly he speaks.

"Sometimes it's the only one we have." Lang paces after him, giving him space while still maintaining the conversation.

Apollo reaches the edge of the back yard and whirls around, not wanting to head up to the front yard with Lang following him. "I'm going to come up with a better one."

"I hope you do." A feral smile touches the corners of Lang's mouth, though it fades a moment later. "With all my heart."

Apollo tries to think of what to say to that, but nothing in the simmering mixture of power and anger and confusion in his chest gives him an answer. So instead he strides forward, brushing past Lang and returning to the center of the yard. (To where he found Klavier, the last night of the full moon, the prosecutor having retreated out into the silence of the night for a few minutes.)

"Do what you think's right, Apollo." Lang's voice is a low, rumbling growl. "You've got a good pack to stand with you while you do."

Apollo gives a brief, decisive nod. "That's what I intend to do."

"Good." Lang turns toward the door, hesitating before he takes a step forward. "I also... I wanted to say... I'm sorry. It's partly my fault how much things escalated. I came to help, and I haven't done much of that yet, and I'm... I'm sorry."

The words cost Lang. Apollo can hear how hard they are in the rough burr of accent that rises up into the man's voice, see it in the tension of his neck—tension that _almost_ erases the exhaustion trying to slump down his shoulders and slow his reactions.

A knot of anger that Apollo hadn't even realized he was holding unfurls as he breathes out a slow sigh. "When was the last time you slept?"

Lang gives a tiny, grim smile. "Depends on what we're doing with time zones."

"You're tired. Tired people make mistakes." Mistakes that resulted in Maya being hurt, in Klavier having to—but it's not Lang's fault, not really, and Apollo forcefully shoves away the accusations that want to rise. "I appreciate that you're willing to help. That you keep dropping your own life to come try to help us figure out what's going on."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Lang shrugs. "Gavin and DeBeste are my friends. And from everything I've heard and seen you're a pretty good guy, too."

Apollo suppresses a smile. "You're _just_ here for Klavier and Prosecutor DeBeste? Nothing about a certain prosecutor who keeps calling you...?"

Lang's smile becomes a full-fledged wolf grin. "I've offered to make Mr. Prosecutor into a member of my pack. Multiple times. Pity he's too much of a cat to accept."

The way Lang talks about offering to make Edgeworth pack makes it clear he thinks that's an explanation of their relationship. Brow furrowing as he turns the idea over in his head, Apollo decides it makes sense. The pack is _important_ , a nexus to which his attention wants to return again and again, and he can't imagine accepting anyone into the pack that he didn't trust and respect and like.

Which... is another big part of the problem, really, and maybe it's best if he talks to Lang about it. "I, ah... I don't know Prosecutor DeBeste really well. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me."

Both Lang's eyebrows shoot up. "Now why would Perfect Pup not like you?"

Apollo gives a guilty shrug. "Probably because he and I fought over Klavier. After Klavier got shot. It was... a little bit of a mess. Not the best meeting, and we haven't really had a chance to talk otherwise because..."

A sweep of Apollo's hand indicates the whole mess that is their current lives.

Lang sighs. "And that's why you're letting him look after your beta now. A nice gesture, and hopefully it'll help start patching things up, but Lang Zhi says you can't make a house without some kind of connection between the walls."

Apollo turns the sentence over in his head for a moment. "Wouldn't it be easier to just say without nails?"

"It would, but that would make it untrue. Some building styles don't use nails." Lang jerks his head towards the house and the people inside. "When your pack has a common goal, you work incredibly well together. Unless DeBeste's not going to be part of your pack..."

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Apollo shrugs. "I mean... he's already part of the bonds...?"

"Yeah, but your pack bonds are super jacked up. No offense." Both Lang's canines show in a grimace.

Apollo takes two deep breaths, resisting the urge to ask how that's _not_ supposed to be offensive. "What's wrong with them this time?"

"Like I said before, they're not supposed to _exist_ yet. And once they exist, they're not supposed to be this strong. Let you know if someone's in trouble, yeah, but not..." Lang's expression settles into a grim frown. "What you guys did when you ripped Kristoph out of Klavier? That was like nothing I've ever seen before. And when we called Clay back... _I_ could feel it all, like I was part of your pack. But I'm not. You guys are something different. Something new."

Apollo swallows.

"Not that new is bad." Lang tilts his head. "Just... some tension within a pack is usually all right. Not necessarily comfortable, but all right. With you... plus Lang Zhi says the person who's not comfortable in their own den will be angry everywhere else."

"I get it. I'll talk to him. We'll... figure things out." Apollo scuffs a foot through the dirt. "Do you think what's happening with the pack bonds is because of Athena or me or..."

"I wish I knew." A long, low growl of frustration works its way out of Lang's throat. "My _guess—_ and ask Navon's opinion, too, he's studied the bloodlines—is that it's not Justice or Strength. But if it's true DeBeste has the Chariot bloodline, and Gavin's clearly got something, possibly Lovers..."

"Right. All speculation, no knowledge. Maybe when Klavier's awake and can tell us what he knows..." Apollo shakes his head. "We'll take it from there. You should go sleep, though. Assuming you're coming to the Conclave tomorrow...?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the World, Firebolt." Lang's grin flashes across his face again. "And really, don't hesitate to Change or call your pack if you need to. The more worked up _you_ are, the more it'll bleed over into them."

Apollo nods, and Lang turns away, heading for the back door.

Only once Lang is gone does Apollo look around the yard, trying to decide what to do. Perhaps if he just does one more lap around the perimeter—

Klavier's touch on the pack-bonds is electric, a sense of safety and security that would probably be more reassuring if Apollo couldn't feel the wavering weakness behind it. It's clearly _intentional_ , though, a message from Klavier to the rest of them, and Apollo huffs out a little breath of relief.

Klavier's all right.

A little bit worse for wear, but all right.

Breaking into a run, a fierce grin appearing on his face, Apollo decides that just _one_ more loop of their temporary territory isn't going to hurt.

XXX

Klavier comes to fetch Apollo for dinner.

Edgeworth had arrived home about ten minutes before, casting one narrow-eyed glance at Apollo as Apollo completed one (hopefully) final lap around the house. They hadn't exchanged any words, but it had been clear from Edgeworth's look that he wasn't in the mood to deal with anything else, so Apollo had restricted himself to prowling around the back yard again after that.

Klavier limps badly as he makes his way out the back door and off the little stoop towards Apollo, his injured leg clearly not wanting to bear his weight. His skin is a dusky gray color, lacking the luster that it had before the summoning ritual, and all the angles of his face seem harder, almost exaggerated, his body on the edge of starvation gauntness where usually he is all lean muscle.

It doesn't feel like Apollo actually moves as he makes his way to Klavier's side, putting his arm under Klavier's shoulder and taking most of the taller man's weight without a word.

Burying his nose in Apollo's hair, Klavier draws in a deep breath and lets it out in a deeper sigh. " _Guten Abend, Meine Alpha_."

"It's good to see you again, too." Apollo has shifted, somehow, holding Klavier in a tight hug, his nose pressed against Klavier's throat. The smell of Klavier's skin is incredibly comforting, a mixture of guitar strings and a much softer sandalwood body wash than what he used before he became a werewolf and Klavier's own, impossible to describe or replicate scent. There is still a hint of ozone rolling off him, the last vestiges of the silver being burned out of his system, and Apollo nuzzles his nose against Klavier's neck, trying to will away the unwelcome scent.

Klavier's hand cups the back of Apollo's neck, Klavier's head tipping easily to allow Apollo unfettered access to his throat. "I'm fine, Herr Forehead. Promise. Though the strength is appreciated."

"You're not fine." Apollo glares up into blue eyes that are far too cheerful. "You're not supposed to be doing anything stressful until the next full moon, remember?"

"When we stop having stressful lives, perhaps I will be able to accept that limitation." Klavier's lips pull back from his teeth. "As long as I am able, I'm going to help you. Help _us_. What happens to this pack is important."

Apollo draws in a hissing breath, the strength of Klavier's conviction washing over him—a deep, steady, determined dedication to protecting the pack and making sure whoever is targeting them is brought to justice.

"I am a prosecutor, Apollo." The words are almost but not quite an apology as Klavier's fingers ghost across Apollo's cheek. "I cannot do nothing when I see people breaking the law. Not just breaking but _using_ the laws, twisting them to their own purposes when they are meant to protect everyone."

"Yeah?" Apollo forces himself to lean back a bit, to put some distance between himself and Klavier. (If they were in wolf form he doesn't think he could do this, but he is _human_ , and he's going to force himself to remember that, no matter what the wolf instincts want.) "I can appreciate that. I like seeing justice done, too. But I'm not willing to let you tear yourself up to get it."

"I won't have to. I have other people there to help me when I can't, and to glue the pieces back together if I push myself too far." Klavier's hand slides down Apollo's arm, their fingers tangling together, the only point of contact left between them.

Klavier smiles, and Apollo stops breathing, a wave of affection and trust and loyalty washing through him—a wave that he knows originates with Klavier.

"Sorry." Klavier's smile disappears, and he tries to pull his hand back from Apollo.

"It's all right." Apollo tightens his fingers, letting Klavier know he doesn't _have_ to let go; when he relaxes them a moment later, Klavier's hand stays in his. "That's, uh... your other bloodline?"

Klavier gives a tight, tense nod. "I saw... when Kristoph shared my body... I am still figuring out how to use it, what I can and should do with it. Especially because it is all tied up in _this_..." Klavier's fingers give Apollo's a brief squeeze. "Tell me if I am doing anything I should not be. Or that is making you uncomfortable."

"I will. Right now..." Apollo runs his tongue over dry lips. "I'm just... I'm glad you're all right."

"You and me both." Klavier smiles again before tilting his head towards the house. "If you are tired of running in circles out here, Lang and Trucy and Athena have made what they promise are delightful little meat pies for us to indulge in."

"Well, I don't want to be late for dinner if Trucy made it. She might take that as a mortal offense." Moving up to Klavier's side, Apollo once more takes Klavier's weight as they turn toward the door.

"We can't have that." Klavier doesn't protest the support, which Apollo takes as a sign that he badly needs it. "Also... thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you." Apollo rubs his chin against Klavier's shoulder, one more little wolf-motion before they rejoin the more human parts of their pack. "You saved Clay. You saved Maya. I... there's no possible way I could thank you enough for that, so..."

"You have thanked me enough." Klavier tilts his head so that his cheek brushes against Apollo's. "When I came out to get you, you didn't hesitate at all to come to me."

"Why would I—" Apollo realizes why, and his blood boils hot again with helpless fury.

"I wasn't... quite conscious, while he held me. I couldn't exactly tell what was happening, but given my brother I am sure it was unpleasant." Klavier's head turns away. "Thank you. For not seeing him in me."

"Klavier..." Apollo gropes for the proper words—for the words that will maybe help salve this reopened scar. "For those of us who knew both of you? You and Kristoph are absolutely nothing alike. I will _never_ see him when I look at you, no matter what he does, and I will _always_ do whatever's needed to get you back."

Klavier swallows, his body leaning closer to Apollo, gratitude so sharp it squeezes at their throats passing along the pack bond. " _Danke_. For everything."

"Pack doesn't need to thank each other for being there. It's what we do." Apollo reaches for the door, though his hand somehow makes a side-trip to stroke through Klavier's loose hair. "Now come on. Let's get some food in everyone and figure out what we're going to do tomorrow."

XXX

Juniper reaches for the handle of the passenger's door, glances through the windshield at the house looming in front of them, and presses herself back into her seat. "Maybe... we should just go back."

Robin groans from the back seat, rolling over on her back in a display that's a _little_ more melodramatic than is strictly necessary.

"Juniper." Hugh doesn't look at her, both his hands still on the steering wheel even though the car's in park now. "We literally just arrived. I haven't even turned off the engine. You haven't even _seen_ him yet."

"Which is why now is a good time to make a tactical retreat, before anyone realizes we made the mistake of coming here." Juniper squirms in her seat, knowing that her face is turning red. "I mean... what were we _really_ going to do?"

Robin sits bolt upright. "Offer him assistance, of course!"

Hugh releases the steering wheel. "Figure out what's really going on and why _Justice_ is calling a Conclave tomorrow, when he should be focusing on his new wolves."

Robin nods. "Get information _and_ give assistance! Just like a proper prosecutor!"

"I'm not going to be a prosecutor, I'm going to be a judge!" Juniper sinks even lower. "I just take all the information presented and try to find the truth amid it."

"Junie." There is a firm fierceness to Robin's tone that says she's running out of patience. "One of your best friends _and_ the guy you've got a huge crush on _and_ the guy you wouldn't stop talking about for weeks after you got to sing with him are all in there. In some kind of trouble. Do you _really_ want us to drive away?"

"No." A low whimper slides its way out of Juniper's throat. "I just... don't want to make things worse."

Hugh arches an eyebrow, his voice dry. "How, precisely, are we going to make things worse?"

"I don't know!" Juniper's hands flap awkwardly in front of her. "But if people _knew_ that what they were going to do was going to make things worse, they wouldn't do it, right?"

Hugh lowers his face to the steering wheel and slowly, deliberately, pounds his forehead against it three times.

Juniper sighs, reaching over to pull Hugh back into a sitting position. "All right. All right! I get it. We're going to go in whether I want to or not."

"We're going to go in _because_ you want to." Robin reaches into the front seats, laying a hand on Juniper's shoulder. "You're just nervous. Don't be. These are our friends. Everything's going to be just fine."

"Right. They're our friends, and we're going to help them out." Juniper squares her shoulders, refusing to let the little panicked voice that had suggested they retreat move back into control. Pulling open the passenger's side door, she jumps out onto the Chief Prosecutor's beautifully maintained front lawn. The sound of the engine sputtering to a halt and two other doors opening lets her know that her wolves are following suit.

Apollo's scent fills the air, thick and acrid, warning everyone to stay away. Juniper almost retreats back to the car. For Apollo to mark this territory that isn't _technically_ his so strongly, something big must have happened—something that's making him very defensive and possessive of his pack.

Hugh's hand falls on her shoulder this time. "We're friends. He'll recognize that."

Juniper gives a nod that is more decisive than her emotions. They aren't unthinking animals, no, but even people that are hurt or scared will lash out, and a dominant werewolf like Apollo with new wolves to defend and shepherd through their painful birth—

Robin's hand between Juniper's should blades propels her towards the door, and Juniper doesn't resist. She has her pack at her side, and they're _right—_ Athena and Apollo and Klavier are their friends. If something has happened, they need to know about it and try to help in any way they can.

The Chief Prosecutor opens the door, still dressed in his work clothes, frowning fiercely enough it _might_ actually scare off any door-to-door salesmen, be they selling products or religion. His expression softens when he sees Juniper and her boys. "Hello, Ms. Woods. I trust you're here about the... astronomical situation?"

Juniper frowns, not certain how to answer for a few seconds until she realizes Edgeworth is trying to refer to the Moon without actually saying the word Moon. "Yes, sir. We'd like to talk to Apollo and the others about what's going on."

"A great deal, all of it terribly annoying." Edgeworth steps back from the door. "Come in. I'll let the others know you're here. Should I follow any special protocol, or—"

Apollo appears behind Edgeworth before Edgeworth can finish the sentence. His whole body is tense, wary, his teeth bared until he blinks, sniffs, and gives a relieved sigh. "Ms. Woods! What brings you here?"

"What causes you to call a Conclave, Justice?" Hugh's words are sharp, demanding, but he's smart enough to keep his head down, his shoulders rolled in—offering no provocation to the man who currently exudes alpha strength like Juniper hasn't ever felt before.

No—she _has_ felt something like this before, but that was when Lang tested Apollo. Lady above, what kind of wolf did Juniper create when she bit Apollo?

"Right." Apollo draws a breath in through his nose, letting it out through his mouth. As he does the sense of _power_ that is permeating the foyer fades away, until it is just like being in any other pack's home. "I probably should have expected you'd find it a little weird."

Robin holds up two fingers a hair's width apart. "Just a little."

Apollo ruffles a hand through his hair. "A lot of the other packs know because we were investigating among them today—it's probably best you guys know, too."

Edgeworth has been edging his way around Apollo, towards the kitchen hallway; his pace picks up as Apollo moves towards Juniper, taking him quickly away.

Hugh frowns as he watches Edgeworth's retreat. "What's bothering him?"

"The last twenty-four hours." Apollo sighs, reaching up with his right hand to massage at his neck. "And the fact that he doesn't know how to take this into the court system without making a bigger mess out of everything. It's... kind of been bothering me, too."

Juniper clasps her hands together in front of her chest to keep them from balling into fists at her side. "Can you tell us what exactly the mess encompasses?"

"Long story short, Klavier was shot at the prosecutor's office. Sniper rifle using a silver bullet." A growling undertone enters Apollo's voice, and his eyes flick towards the living room. "He's recovering, and we went searching today and found one pack that seems to have made the bullets and another that probably fired them. The short story becomes more complicated when you add in the fact that apparently more than just Athena and I have mixed bloodlines, there are evil ghosts following us and trying to kill us, and there's some kind of bloodlines cult that seems intent on creating some kind of god-bloodline called the World and using it for their own gain."

Juniper's hands both rise to her mouth at mention of the World, an instinctual reaction. "Have you... someone _said_ that to you?"

Apollo shakes his head. "Come on into the living room and I'll explain in a little more detail. The pack's there. Lang's hanging around somewhere, but last I checked he's sleeping. Edgeworth's in the kitchen, trying to keep it as human-ish as possible. Maya and Pearl—they're two High Priestesses—are wandering around here somewhere, too."

The pack is indeed arrayed around the living room. Klavier is sprawled out on the couch, and even if Apollo hadn't told her Juniper would have known someone hurt him with silver. He's asleep, for one thing, despite the nearness of the full moon and the restless energy that clearly fills the rest of the pack. Though he doesn't look _too_ bad—perhaps a bit more gaunt than usual—there's a flush to his cheeks and a clinging fire-and-lightning scent to the air that makes it obvious what happened.

The rest of the pack mills around the living room, and just in the few seconds that Juniper watches, both Athena and Gumshoe pause by the couch, putting a hand out to touch their injured pack-mate. If they were fully pack, Juniper would assume they were sharing strength, helping him heal; since they're not, she assumes it's just instincts kicking in early. Ema is busy making records in her notebooks, muttering to herself as she does.

A man Juniper's not familiar with sits on the floor beside the couch, near Klavier's head. Two empty card packs sit next to him, and there are cards spread about in front of him, Trucy sitting across from him and grinning in a way that Juniper's fairly certain could be described as 'evilly'.

Juniper flicks a glance at Apollo. A quick sniff gives her just the scent of Apollo's pack, strong and clean in the air, and she wants to make sure she doesn't say anything in front of people that she shouldn't.

Apollo runs a hand over his face. "I think you know everyone but Sebastian in the room. That's the man sitting with Trucy. Sebastian DeBeste, prosecutor and Klavier's friend. He... Klavier accidentally bit him, after Klavier got shot."

Juniper whirls from studying the new man to look at Apollo, horror rising up into near panic. "But Klavier's already—if they find out he's bitten someone without following protocol—"

Apollo's expression darkens. "That's exactly what the bastard who shot him is hoping for, I think. At least as a backup plan. Plan A was to kill Klavier, hopefully destabilize me, but if they didn't manage that shooting when they did made sure Klavier and I would be in a sticky situation."

Hugh crosses his arms in front of his chest and huffs out a breath. "I'd say they succeeded. If what you're going to do at the Conclave is try to make this all right—"

Juniper cuts Hugh off, frowning as she watches Sebastian. "Is he... he seems... really all right. He should be hurting, getting bit this close to the full."

A flick of Apollo's eyes towards Athena tells Juniper at least a bit of what's happening. Apollo shrugs. "Athena's Strength. Well, Strength-Moon now. At least that's the Feys' best guest, and it fits with what we've seen. She can make it stop hurting—the transformation. According to the book, if there's any possibility the human and wolf will find a balance, the Strength bloodline can help them do it without all the pain. A touch of her fingers and... poof. It's nice."

"I—but—" Juniper shakes her head. "She was with Klavier part of the time when he transformed, and it didn't work like that."

Apollo shrugs. "Maybe it needed the Moon added to it for it to work so well."

"Or..." Klavier cracks one vibrant blue eye open, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he looks up at Apollo. "Maybe Klavier was too difficult a balancing act. _Hallo_ , _Fraulein_. And pack."

Juniper gives a little wave, trying not to blush as Klavier also smiles at her—a _knowing_ smile, and is that a wink as he looks from her to Apollo? Juniper's blush deepens.

"Junie!" Athena pulls herself away from a board game that she had been playing with Gumshoe, skittering up to Juniper and _almost_ grabbing her in a hug.

If this were last week, Athena probably would have hugged her. Now Athena pauses, glancing from Apollo to Juniper, her fingers ghosting across Widget as she clearly tries to make sure it'll be all right.

Apollo turns his face away, and Juniper tries not to notice that the tips of his ears are an endearing shade of bright red. "Go ahead and hug her. Woods and her pack are friends. I'm not going to snap at you for having friends."

A fondly exasperated smile flits across Athena's face. "I _know_ that, but I also don't want to make things harder for you. You've been doing really well given everything that's happened."

Apollo rubs at the back of his neck, and a frisson of shame enters his scent. "I could've done better. I _will_ do better."

Athena's smile becomes all fond, losing the exasperation as she reaches out to touch her alpha on the shoulder. "You'll do great with all this."

Then Athena holds out her arms, and Juniper walks into her embrace. The scent of wolf—of Apollo's pack—is strong around her... stronger than Juniper expects, even with the full only two days away.

Klavier sits up slowly, both hands rising to rub at his temples. Sebastian is sitting next to him instantly, offering support with a hand on his shoulder. Apollo's body twitches, a clear circumventing of the desire to move towards Klavier—to move towards his injured wolf, and Juniper's not sure if she would have had the self-control that Apollo does to instead stand silent and stiff where he was.

Something's going on there. Something that's going to need to be worked out, soon, if they don't want it to become a more severe problem.

"Sebastian's not sure about Apollo." Athena whispers the words in Juniper's ear. "And Sebastian's really close with Klavier."

That would definitely cause tension, and it makes Juniper sad to see the easy camaraderie that alpha and beta had shared interrupted by this pack conflict. She whispers her response so low that only Athena's sensitive ears should pick it up. "They need to talk and sort it out."

The look that Athena casts between Apollo and Sebastian speaks volumes.

Well, that's one thing that Juniper can help with. Stepping out of Athena's embrace, Juniper falls back in at Apollo's side. "All right. So we're going to be trying to take down whoever shot Klavier without also getting Klavier executed, despite being night-cursed and Changing someone without permission."

Apollo nods, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "That's the gist of it. We've got plenty of evidence about who did it. For one of them I'm going to have bring up the whole World-cult thing, though, and I don't know how well that's going to go over."

Juniper barely suppresses an involuntary shudder. "Yeah, that's definitely going to get some attention. How..."

A sigh that seems to come from his toes slides out of Apollo's mouth. "Clay was helping us investigate, and he found this creepy room in Pot's house. Kristoph Gavin attacked him and took him to this weird cult headquarters from there, and then we got him back."

"Kristoph..." Juniper's eyes flick to Klavier.

Athena takes Juniper's hand in hers. "Apparently Klavier and Kristoph also have a bloodline. Kristoph used it to try to kill Klavier if the silver didn't; Clay saved him. Lovers is the guess, but Klavier needs to talk to some family to find out."

"Wow." Juniper blinks. "You guys have had a very busy twenty-four hours."

Apollo laughs. "Tell me about it. I think that catches you up on everything important. So if you have any suggestions..."

Juniper draws her flower around, taking a deep breath of the calming scent. This is politics on a scale she hasn't ever had to deal with before. "You're going to have to be upfront about everything that's happened. Especially because if you try to press Pot and he knows about what happened, he'll tell everyone else, try to deflect the Conclave into a witch-hunt for the night-cursed."

Klavier levers himself to his feet, waving a hand for Sebastian to stay when the man would have followed him. He limps a bit as he makes his way towards the hallway—the hallway that connects to the bathroom, but that also puts him out of range of their strategy planning.

In case they want to consider potentially abandoning him? Juniper's gaze runs up and down Apollo, her eyes taking in the firm, fierce set of shoulders and jaw, her nose picking up the strong alpha-scent again. Apollo isn't going to tolerate anyone going after Klavier.

Athena leans closer, whispering in Juniper's ear again. "Klavier's gift makes the pack-bonds way stronger than they should be, according to Lang. We can all feel each other, and he can feel all of us."

Juniper's eyebrows shoot up. "But that's... Apollo, can _you_ feel everyone in the pack still?"

Frowning, Apollo closes his eyes. After a few minutes he gives a brief nod. "Yeah. Just... well, that they're all _here_ and that they're all _safe_."

"Okay. Good. That's how it's supposed to work—more or less, though not with people who aren't technically pack yet." Juniper stares between Apollo and Athena. "Probably—probably best to keep the multiple bloodlines part out of the story, if we can. It's just going to make everyone more upset and less able to reason."

Another deep frown from Apollo, but he gives a slow nod. "Okay. I think we can do that. They'll probably just assume anything odd that happens is because of me and my two, right?"

Juniper runs through what she knows of the story again, then turns to face her wolves. Hugh has taken to leaning against the wall; Robin has somehow slipped past her and is staring down at the abandoned card game in front of Trucy. Hugh nods; Robin gives a thumb's up from across the room. "Probably, and yes, that's a good plan, to let them keep assuming that. So. We're upfront about what happened, but we stress that it was because someone shot him with _silver—_ that's a far more terrible and less common offense, and should distract everyone. Who do you have on your side?"

"Myself. You. Shae." Apollo shrugs. "Between Klavier and I we saw a bunch of the alphas today, so hopefully some of them will remember that neither of us was acting like a crazy person and listen to reason."

"Hopefully." Juniper draws her flower forward again, anxiety rising to speed her heart. She had known that things would be complicated as soon as she heard about the Conclave, but this... why can't their lives ever be boring for a little bit? "Tonight, though, what you need to do is sort out your pack."

Apollo gives her a blank stare.

Juniper nods her head towards where Sebastian is huddled against the couch. "Talk with him. Make sure he wants to be in your pack—that he understands what his options are. Having someone nervous in your pack-bonds isn't going to help you at all tomorrow."

Apollo's eyes widen as he looks towards Sebastian, the acrid scent of tension and uncertainty wafting up. "I'm pretty sure Klavier's gone over his options."

Juniper raises an eyebrow. "Let's not trust the silver-addled one who bit him to cover all the bases coherently, all right?"

Apollo gives a short, terse nod. "All right. What are you going to do?"

Juniper hesitates just for a moment before deciding that telling the truth is best, especially given how nervous and defensive Apollo clearly is. "First, talk to your beta. If his other bloodline's given him something like an alpha's access to the pack-bonds, he needs to know how to deal with it. Secondly, spend some time with Athena and the rest of you, provided it won't be too taxing."

The grin that Apollo gives is at least somewhat forced, his scent still filled with tension, but it's still a grin—for _her—_ and Juniper feels her face heat in response. "It won't be too taxing. You guys are friends—we're always happy to have friends. And yeah, things have been a little rough, but we're going to be _fine_."

Juniper grins. "You're going to be _absolutely_ fine."

Apollo's smile is a bit more genuine the second time, and then he's trotting across the room towards Sebastian.

Juniper turns on her heel, heading after Klavier, hoping she really can give him some advice to help him.

XXX

Justice singles him out.

It takes Sebastian a moment to realize that the alpha is heading determinedly towards Sebastian's little corner of floor. By the time Sebastian does, the other werewolves have already moved away, as though at some unspoken command.

Trucy ducks forward, claiming Sebastian's hand and giving it a brief squeeze. "Polly's really cool, if you give him a chance."

Then even the human girl has abandoned him, and Sebastian tries not to let panic rise up. If he starts panicking, he'll start hurting, and the wolf-fire—wolf-lightning? The others seem to use lightning more than fire, but both _burn—_ will make coherent thought difficult.

Justice stops at the opposite end of the couch, his eyes focusing somewhere above Sebastian and to the side, his hands held carefully neutral at his sides. "Hi. Do you mind if we, uh... talk?"

Sebastian blinks, somehow surprised to be asked. "I suppose... if you think it's a good idea..."

Justice settles down on the floor next to the Sebastian, with the couch as a backrest and about a person's-worth of space between him and Sebastian's side.

A Klavier-sized space, Sebastian tries not to the think, but it's there anyway. During most of their interactions Klavier has been present, though not always _human_ , and why is Apollo taking a personal interest in him _now_?

"I... don't remember if I apologized for how we met." Justice looks down at his hands. "For attacking you."

Sebastian watches Justice, keeping his head down, his gaze never direct. "I... think you did. Though it's been a very long twenty-four hours."

A bark of unexpected laughter slides from Justice's throat, his head turning a little bit towards Sebastian. "That's a good understatement about it. Well, whether I did or not, it doesn't hurt to do it again. I'm sorry I attacked you. I wasn't... quite in my right mind."

"It hurt you." Sebastian presses his lips together, his fingers twining into a complicated ball in his lap. "When Klavier got hurt, it was like... this afternoon?"

Justice hesitates and then gives a little nod. "Close enough, yeah. I knew he was hurt, that he needed my help, and I couldn't _do_ anything. I've... got some issues with being helpless. With friends being hurt and not being able to do anything about it. Which isn't an excuse, there's no good excuse, but... I'm working on it. With a psychiatrist, even, assuming Athena counts. I don't make a habit of attacking random people, and I'm sorry that our introduction was a little... rocky."

"It's... all right." Sebastian speaks slowly, his eyes fixated on his hands. _Is_ it all right? Justice hasn't done anything violent since then—Justice _helped_ him, this afternoon.

But a part of Sebastian knows that violence is an option—hears the growling undertone to certain words, sees the way Justice's body moves, and knows that violence of a far more dangerous sort than their little scuffle is a possibility. A new part of Sebastian wants to sooth away that tension from Justice, have him lay out with neck and belly exposed and say that it's all right, and because of that Sebastian can't be sure what _is_ all right.

"Did... we talk about your options?" Justice runs a hand over his hair, from behind his little devil-horns to the nape of his neck. "You'll need to have a pack. It's not safe to not have a pack. But there are a lot of packs to choose from. You heard Navon talk about a lot of them yesterday..."

"I don't..." Sebastian draws a deep breath, and his sense of smell is far better than it should be, picking up on all the people in the room. "Why do I need to have a pack?"

"Because the other werewolves will hunt you down if you don't, but more than that it's bad for you if you don't." Justice taps his head. "Juniper says it'll drive you crazy eventually, being a lone wolf. You need at least three people to form a pack—two is tolerable but it makes you a little... obsessed. Klavier and I were the only two in our pack, and I don't know if you noticed, but—"

"He was calling you. Texting you. Talking to you... a lot." Talking to Justice when he wouldn't talk openly with Sebastian, and at least knowing that there was a _reason_ behind the changes in behavior makes it a little easier to handle. "It's... better now? With more wolves?"

Justice nods. "A lot better. So. You need to choose a pack, or form a pack, of at least three. And you're welcome in mine, but you don't... I'm not going to force you to be in it, especially if you're scared of me."

Sebastian can feel his face flush scarlet. "I'm not—"

"I can smell it. Feel it in the pack bonds." Justice shrugs, looking away. "You're wary of me. You don't like me being close to Klavier."

The flush doesn't fade from Sebastian's face as he realizes why Justice has been leaving Klavier alone today, where yesterday he was glued to Klavier's side every time Klavier was hurt. "You make it sound like I'm jealous."

Justice's shoulders move in a little shrug. "Whatever it is... I don't want things to be tense. It won't be good for any of us. So, just... if you don't like me, remember you're not stuck with me. You can go other places. Just stick it out through the full moon, and we'll find you whatever you need."

"I'm not—" Sebastian gives a little growl, his hands clenching into fists. "I don't _know_ you. And yet... a part of me wants to trust you. To just... accept your arbitrary. And I don't _like_ that, especially knowing that my father could probably _literally control people_..."

"Arbi..." Justice frowns, shaking his head. "Is this about my being alpha? Do you... you feel a need to be..." One of Justice's hands moves in a hesitant circular motion. "Be... submissive?"

Closing his eyes, Sebastian leans back against the couch, the press of the cushion into his back helping him feel grounded. "I... yes. I think... that's a good way to describe it. With you, with Klavier, with Athena and Ema, and it's... hard. To accept."

"I would never—" Justice pauses, his hands clenching and then being very intentionally relaxed a second later. "I'm kind of... extra dominant. More dominant than most wolves are—than Lang's seen anyone other than himself be, apparently. It's something that can... shift for me, up and down as I need it to, because of my gift. I think I've been letting it run pretty high lately, just because of everything. But if it's making you nervous... well, let's see what I can do."

Closing his eyes, Justice begins breathing in a slow, steady rhythm. Seconds tick by in silence, and after a half a minute or so Sebastian feels something... ease, in the air. He's able to _look_ at Justice, squarely, firmly, though he still averts his eyes instinctively when Justice opens his.

"How's that?" Justice flexes his fingers, a tentative smile on his face.

"It's... better." Sebastian pauses. "I don't..."

"It's a meditation trick Juniper taught Klavier and I—we'll have to teach the rest of you, once the full moon's done. I thought maybe it would help me take the edge off my alpha-ness, and it did." Apollo looks down at the floor. "As for why... when Klavier was transforming, Juniper wanted to try to order him to accept it. To _force_ him to accept it. For good reason—because Klavier would have died if he didn't accept it—but... it didn't feel right to me. Especially not for _Klavier_. Trying to force him to accept something... it's a good way to make him fight to escape it, after everything that happened. And I'm guessing Klavier's good friends share some of those same feelings."

Sebastian finds his body curling in, arms to his sides, hands to his chest, head down. One piece of honesty deserves another, though. "When you asked me if there might be a connection between the DeBeste that Clay mentioned and my family... I said that my father had been executed eighteen months ago for crimes, and that brainwashing certainly wasn't something he would be above. He... was not a pleasant man. He was in charge of the P.I.C.—basically he was supposed to prevent corruption, but instead he created a terribly corrupt system, harassing people, _murdering_ people, so he could have his way. He... I idealized him— _idolized_ him. He _raised_ me to idolize him, to follow his every whim, even though..."

Some things are easier shown than said, and Sebastian pulls off his gloves, displaying the burn scars that twist over his palms and the backs of his hands.

Justice draws in a hissing breath, his eyes narrowing, and Sebastian smells something sharp and hot, like metal and wet dog.

Anger.

Justice is _furious_ , and Sebastian shrinks back on instinct.

Justice blinks, pulling back from Sebastian and returning his breathing to the slow meditative pattern he had used before. The scent of anger fades away.

"Sorry." The words are gruff, and Justice raises a hand to scrub at his face. "It's not... I grew up an orphan. Never adopted. Yours aren't the first inflicted scars I've seen, but it always... bothers me. Makes me wish we could keep it from happening."

Sebastian slides his gloves back on by feel, not looking at his hands more than he has to. "Edgeworth figured out what my father was and brought him down. He saved me. But because of my pop..."

"You don't like being given orders." Justice's head dips down in a brief nod. "I get it."

"The problem is more that a part of me likes just being given orders, but I know that I can't accept that." Sebastian's arms wrap around his chest. "I cannot— _will_ not—be someone's pawn. I will not be willingly blind again."

"And I wouldn't want to make you so." Justice stares hard at the far wall for a few seconds. "I can't change how you react to me being an alpha. And I can't change that I _am_ an alpha—which Lang says is at least partly because I don't like giving up control, if that makes you feel better. But I can promise I'd never force you to do anything, or want you to be less than what you are. If that's all right... I'm happy enough to have you in the pack. Especially because Klavier seems to really like it. If it's not all right... being a werewolf wasn't exactly a choice for me or Klavier, either, and we'll do what we can to find you a solution that works."

He means it. There is utter sincerity in his words, and a fierce, determined energy that leaves Sebastian no doubt he will try his hardest. "I appreciate that. And Klavier... he speaks highly of you. He has since the Kitaki trial, but especially after... he really appreciated how you treated him after the Misham trial. That you were..."

"That I wasn't a jackass?" Apollo fills in the words with a half-smile, hugging his knees to his chest as he does. "Klavier didn't do anything wrong, and I wish that whole mess hadn't been so hard on him."

 _You and me both_ , Sebastian almost says, but there is enough trauma in the present without dredging up the past.

"Well, that's... pretty much all I had to say." Apollo levers himself to his feet, holding out a hand. "Are we good until after the full moon, at least?"

Sebastian takes Apollo's hand, giving it a firm shake. "Until this is done and we've all survived the transformation, at least. And don't... Klavier likes you. Don't stay away on my account."

Apollo gives a little shrug and another small smile. "It's a lot of people in one big but not that big house. We're never too far away."

Apollo waits a few seconds more, but Sebastian can't think of anything else to say, and eventually the alpha gives a brief nod and heads back towards the Themis visitors.

Trucy appears in front of Sebastian a moment later, picking up the cards again. "All right, so the way you play this game..."

XXX

Klavier splashes water on his face, squinting at his reflection in the mirror. He looks leaps and bounds better than he did when he woke up, at least. His skin has regained its usual color, and he no longer looks a meal or two away from starvation. His leg still throbs, but his shoulder has healed completely, without scarring, and at least his leg hasn't bled anymore, though the scar there is thick and ugly.

It doesn't matter. It's low enough on his hip that very few people will ever get the opportunity to see it, and the crowds he needs to pose for in the courtroom usually don't appreciate a bit of leg, anyway.

Provided he can actually stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time now, maybe they can get planning done for tomorrow's Conclave.

Opening the bathroom door, Klavier almost walks into Juniper Woods, the woman standing demurely in the hallway, clearly waiting for him.

(She's worried about him, a light frisson of concern overlaying a deeper pit of uncertainty, and it would be easy to—)

Klavier raises both hands to rub at his temples, a headache already threatening. It's worse with the pack, the information that he can pick up on just by making eye contact far too sharp and clear. If this is going to happen every time he meets anyone, though—

"Lady above." Juniper pales, taking a step back, her left hand forming a crescent-moon shape. Her scent abruptly shifts, a glimmering aura of fear and dismay entering it.

"My apologies, _Fraulein_ Arboretum." Klavier clears his throat, turning his eyes away from hers, trying _not_ to feel clearly how much what he's done bothers her and failing miserably. He doesn't even _know_ what he's done—had she felt something? Clearly she did, but what—

Juniper's hand reaches out, slow but determined, and touches the back of his right one. "I'm sorry. I just... wasn't expecting that."

Klavier tries to summon up a grin. "Wasn't expecting what?"

"For you to be able to form a pack-bond with me, however temporary." Juniper stares at the wall to his right. "You could feel what I felt, couldn't you?"

Klavier hesitates and then gives a curt nod. Better to get what information he can, after all. "Since—it's a long story, but my brother can do things with bonds. He possessed me, and I saw it—what he was doing. I figured out how to _use_ it, to help us get Clay back. But it also... sometimes seems to use me."

"Pack bonds can be tricky things." Juniper worries at her bottom lip with her teeth. "Usually they're nothing special—just a sense of who's in the pack, who isn't. They also let the pack know if someone's hurt, which it sounds like you guys already figured out. But you make it sound like... more than that."

"I feel what they are feeling." Klavier tightens his fingers around Juniper's. "I do it without meaning to, but I also feel that if I meant to... I don't know."

"This is why mixing bloodlines is frowned upon—not that either you or Apollo had any choice." Juniper squares her shoulders. "All right. So. You've got really strong pack bonds—far stronger than they've any right to be, and including people that aren't supposed to be in your pack. But still, pack bonds. And somehow _you're_ seeing things that normally only an alpha would."

"An alpha... _normally_ can see their pack's emotions?" Both Klavier's eyebrows arch up.

"An alpha is supposed to keep the pack together—protect them, keep the peace. Usually we can get at least a _sense_ of how everyone's doing." Juniper scuffs a bare toe along the carpet. "Also project a little bit, if need to. I'm guessing it's safe to assume those abilities are greatly enhanced in you. But hopefully the same tricks alphas learn to control it will help you control it."

A tired smile toys at the corner of Klavier's mouth. "Is this going to involve meditation? Because I am still not very good at that, especially not with the full coming up."

"Well, meditation should certainly help you ground yourself and figure out how to keep everything properly inside the right heads. But I get it—not everyone's good at it, and trying to force it when you're still healing silver blight is probably a bad idea." Juniper frowns in deep contemplation. "So... we'll come up with something else. Maybe... a visualization trick? How good are you at visualizing things?"

Klavier blinks. "I... suppose it depends on what. I am good at remembering lay-outs of crime scenes, that kind of thing."

"Eh... maybe it'll do." Juniper gives a quick, too-bright smile after she apparently realizes her reassurance had not been very reassuring. "How about... wait. Actually, this could really work! You've done a lot of recording, right?"

Tilting his head to the side, Klavier smiles. "Only every album that the Gavinners made."

"Perfect! Oh, this might actually be better than meditation. So." Juniper takes both his hands in hers, smiling eagerly. "I want you to picture a sound board. There are all sorts of different channels, right? Channels that you can open and close to change what instruments are emphasized in the music."

Klavier nods, closing his eyes, beginning to see the shape of Juniper's plan and hoping that it will work.

Juniper keeps talking, steady and certain. "What you're going to do is assign each person in the pack or that you bring into the pack-bonds a different channel. Then turn the channels down, so that there's barely any sound coming through. Does that make sense?"

This time Klavier stays still, caught up in the swirling morass that is the pack—and those who are associated with the pack. That fierce defensiveness tinged with a lingering hint of denial, of uncertainty—that is Edgeworth, and Klavier swiftly assigns the man a channel and turns his output down to zero. Edgeworth wouldn't want his privacy invaded in this fashion, not if it's possible to avoid it—and Klavier _can_ avoid it.

The eagerness and carefully controlled wariness in front of him is Juniper, and Klavier swiftly labels and turns down her station, too.

A bright spike of fear, and if it didn't fade Klavier would have charged towards the living room, but it _does_ fade, and so he labels and turns down Sebastian's channel.

Ema's burning curiosity; Trucy's eager energy; Gumshoe's stolid devotion; Apollo's fierce burning determination; everyone is teased apart and labeled and turned _down_.

It isn't perfect, but it _helps_ , and when Klavier opens his eyes he breathes a sigh of relief.

Juniper grins up at him, squeezing his hands in congratulations. "You'll also want to make sure to make a channel for _yourself—_ you don't want to accidentally project something you'd rather keep hidden—but hopefully it helps?"

Klavier nods, raising Juniper's hand to his lips and pressing a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. "Thank you, _fraulein_. You have thrown me a rope when I didn't even know I was drowning."

"Being alpha's tough, but I was raised to do it." Juniper shrugs. "Being what you guys are... I don't envy you, though I am deeply impressed and here to help in any way I can."

"Your help is appreciated." Klavier releases her hands. "Shall we rejoin the others?"

Juniper nods her acquiescence, and they walk back to the living room side by side, Klavier humming quietly to himself as they do.

Something has changed when they get back. It's not just that Klavier has figured out how to tone down the sea of emotions around him. Everyone's scent still carries strong emotion with it, and that miasma has changed just a bit.

Klavier limps his way over to Sebastian, trying not to favor his bad leg _too_ blatantly. He will need to walk strong and confident tomorrow. Slinging an arm around his friend's shoulder, Klavier draws a surreptitious mouthful of Sebastian's scent.

Sebastian has _relaxed_. He's not _completely_ calm, but where before a tight, lingering unease underwrote all his words and scent, now he seems... almost content with the situation.

Nuzzling into Klavier's shoulder in turn, Sebastian offers him a small smile. "Feeling all right?"

"Feeling better." Klavier looks around the room, trying to find the source of Sebastian's change of heart.

Apollo lifts his eyes from Ema's notebook to nod at Klavier, and Klavier allows the channel that represents his alpha to open _just_ a little bit.

Since Klavier awoke Apollo has been a bundle of raw nerves, scared and angry and frustrated. He is still all three, but they are... less strong now, bound back down by Apollo's natural resilience and determination.

A brief, cocky smile touches Apollo's mouth before he turns back to what he and Ema are working on, and Klavier can't help giving an answering grin.

They've gotten everyone this far, and they know who their targets are.

Tomorrow is going to be their day, and heaven help anyone who tries to stand in their way.


	13. Chapter 13: To See Justice

_**Chapter Thirteen: To See Justice**_

They are the last ones to arrive at the Conclave.

It's what Apollo had wanted. He wanted to be able to see who sat next to whom—who was allying themselves with who, and who was holding warily back. He also wanted to give Shae, Lang and Juniper a chance to see if there were any traps, and since he hasn't received any word from them, he assumes it's safe.

Or at least feels more confident that it's safe. He'll certainly be keeping an eye on their known allies as they approach, looking for any signs of duress.

Klavier walks at his side, the only one of Apollo's pack to come with him. He walks easily, his head up, his bearing cool and confident. If Apollo didn't know that Klavier had been limping about Edgeworth's house two hours ago while they coordinated breakfast, he'd believe Klavier has completely recovered.

Since he _does_ know Klavier was limping not that long ago, he hopes to keep this interrogation short and sweet.

Ema, Gumshoe, Athena, and Sebastian are waiting in another car a block away from the park where the Conclave is being held. Tradition has only the alpha and one assistant come to the Conclave, but Apollo wanted to have Sebastian near at hand, in case Sebastian needs the pack or in case Sebastian's existence becomes common knowledge and he has to be vetted by the other alphas. Taking Sebastian without protection had been unthinkable, and once Gumshoe was going leaving the women behind became, in their own word, untenable.

Apollo wonders how many of the other alphas have pack hiding in the vicinity of the Conclave, and then decides it doesn't matter. If something goes wrong, it's going to go wrong very quickly, before backup could even hope to arrive.

"Brighter smile, _mein Alpha_." Klavier's own grin is half-feral as they approach the pavilion where the alphas are gathered. "We hunt together, after all, and no one has escaped our combined attention before."

A smile slides into place before Apollo can really think about it. It _is_ fun hunting with Klavier, and the part of him that Klavier named Sol a month that seems like a lifetime ago delights in the prospect. "We've got this."

" _Ja._ " Klavier tosses his head back, bangs falling expertly—annoyingly—into the perfect place as he does.

Then they've arrived, seemingly between one breath and the next. Shae and Juniper are both at the back of the pavilion, watching everyone else closely, their betas at their sides. A faint smile touches Navon's face when he sees them, but he makes no gesture to give away his thoughts. Clemens and Colyte sit at either end of the zig-zag group of uninvolved alphas, Clemens on the right hand side, Colyte on the left.

And at the front of the pavilion sit Pot and Tainer. Rex looks terrible, her eyes red-rimmed, her hands clenched into fists at her side. Her beta sits at her side, and bound together in front of them must be the wolf who attacked Klavier—Less, that was his name.

Pot looks fine. He looks _better_ than fine, an arrogant smile on his lips, and Apollo looks for the man's beta before realizing with a sinking heart that instead of bringing another adult with him Pot brought the child—the girl who had stood in front of Pot and growled defiance at Apollo yesterday.

"Well, well." Pot seizes control of the meeting immediately, lounging back even further on the picnic bench. "Guess they did decide to show up. Not _completely_ addle-brained, then. At least not yet."

Apollo doesn't bother rising to the bait, sweeping his eyes over the congregation—picking out Lang, leaning against one of the pavilion supports next to Clemens. The Interpol agent stands with his arms crossed in front of his chest, seeming completely unconcerned.

Pot doesn't like to be ignored. His smile slips as he leans forward, hands dangling between his legs. "Why have you called us here on the eve of the full, Justice? Don't you have enough to worry about with your night-cursed beta and your incomplete pack?"

It's remarkably satisfying being able to frustrate a man just by being calm, so Apollo continues to do just that. He projects his voice so that everyone can hear, but he doesn't allow any of the fury or accusation into it. That will come later. "You all know why we're here. Though perhaps Destin here is getting a bit senile. I would think you'd remember my asking you yesterday for assistance in tracking down the wolf who would use silver against his own kind."

A low growl runs through the assembled alphas—not surprise, but a churning anger. They don't like the idea of someone using their weakness against them—of one of their _own_ using their weakness against them.

Good. Apollo's not too keen on it, either.

Pot raises a hand, and the growling dies down. "Now, I get why you're upset. But I have to ask—what makes you so certain it was a wolf who did it? There are Bloodline hunters out there, and as much as we try to keep our secrets it's kind of a well known weakness."

Klavier responds with a razor-thin smile, his hands in his jean pockets. " _Herr_ Pot, how many people do you think know about Apollo and I?"

"Well, I really wouldn't know." Destin's smile becomes wider, and he casts a glance back to make sure the other alphas are listening. "I mean, your pack is very bad at playing by the rules, aren't you?"

He couldn't mean—well, if he does, this is going to be far easier than Apollo thought it would be. "Explain what you're insinuating by that."

"Your pack was created because of a crime—two crimes, actually." Pot points at Apollo. "You shouldn't exist, _double-gifted_." Somehow he makes the words into a curse, and his finger shifts from Apollo to Klavier. "And the night-cursed _definitely_ shouldn't exist. And yet those crimes went unpunished due to the... _kindness_ of some of our Conclave's members."

 _Weakness_ is what he means, and he manages to show that in tone and body.

Apollo opens his mouth to snap out a reply, frustrated that Pot hasn't given the game away already by admitting he knows about Sebastian, but Colyte speaks first. The man's voice is smooth and calm, as though they were discussing the weather. "They were tried for their crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and found guilty only of bad luck. Are you trying to dispute this Conclave's actions last month?"

Pot holds his hands up, his mouth twisting into a too-satisfied smirk. "Not at all. I just want their history to be kept in mind as we move forward."

He just wants to remind everyone that they considered killing Apollo and Klavier before, so when Sebastian's existence becomes known he can use it against them. Apollo returns the man's smile, remembering Wright's advice to always smile for the client. Even if the client's himself, maybe it will help. "My beta was shot with a silver bullet approximately thirty-six hours ago. If anyone would like to debate this, please, come forward. The wound still smells a bit like silver."

Klavier stares around the circle, not meeting anyone's eyes but ensuring each alpha sees how willing he is to prove his point.

Clemens waves a hand. "No one's debating that it happened. And you insist that no one but another wolf could have done it?"

Apollo stares at the woman's forehead, barely remembering not to make eye contact and turn this into a dominance contest. "No one but my soon-to-be pack-mates knew about myself and Klavier. They didn't tell anyone; Klavier and I didn't tell anyone; that means one of you guys betrayed us. Plain and simple."

The accusation causes another stir among the alphas, and this time assistance comes from an unexpected place—Rex stands up, one hand on Less' head. "They're telling the truth. It was indeed a wolf who betrayed them—several wolves, in fact."

Pot makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. "And why should we accept your word about that, stray-saver?"

The way he says the words makes them sound dirty, like a curse.

For a moment Rex just looks confused; then her face darkens, rage bringing a blush to color her face up to ear-tips. "Have I ever lied to this Conclave? If anyone would say that I have, stand now and make your accusation."

"Hush, now." Pot makes a soothing gesture with his right hand. Destin meets Rex's eyes for a brief moment—a dominance contest, Apollo realizes. One that the woman loses. "I didn't say _you_ were lying, j—"

"Actually, _Herr Despot_ , you did." Klavier cuts over the man's clearly-prepared speech, smiling as he does. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, but Apollo suspects if there were a wall in striking distance it would be feeling Klavier's fist soon. "Questioning why others should accept her word is a clear insinuation that she is a liar. How else would you have it be interpreted?"

Pot turns his smile on Klavier, his eyes searching to meet Klavier's. Apollo can feel Klavier tense beside him. Pot wouldn't—oh, yes he would, and Apollo isn't going to stand for that. Trying his hardest to meet Pot's gaze, to keep him from threatening Klavier, Apollo allows his alpha status to ratchet upward.

Everyone shifts—including Lang, the Interpol agent mouthing the word _careful_ towards Apollo. As soon as Pot stops trying to intimidate Klavier, Apollo lets his own scent and sense of power return to normal.

Apollo _almost_ yells objection, but since this isn't _technically_ a court of law, he restrains himself. His voice is stiff with fury when he speaks. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to intimidate others into not speaking."

The sneer on Pot's face only grows. "Yes, well, I'd appreciate it if—"

The little girl puts a hand on Pot's arm, her head held low, her whole body twisted in submission.

Visibly drawing himself together, Pot pats the little girl on the head. "Right. What I was _trying_ to say before being so rudely interrupted is that Rex has a tendency to choose less-than-stable people for her packs. Old strays are what they are for a reason, after all. So even though you've been told something by your subordinate there, it doesn't mean that it's true."

"You coward." Rex's voice trembles with rage—rage and a certain type of grief, one that Apollo usually associates with betrayal. "You haughty, clod-footed, cat-brained _traitor_. You set all this up, and you're really going to try to weasel out of any responsibility?"

"Set what up? If you think I'm involved with this, you're wrong." Pot attempts to project innocence, and Apollo's bracelet practically cuts his hand off. "I haven't done anything to betray you, Rex. Nothing immoral or questionable."

He isn't lying about that. He _believes_ he hasn't done anything wrong, and given what Apollo suspects him of that's absolutely horrifying.

Pot leans towards Rex. "If your pack decided to betray you, that's not my fault. Everyone's told you that you make bad decisions about who to bring in. It's not—"

"Proper to lead the witness." Klavier's teeth show in a grin that is a clear threat. "Why do we not listen to what Less has to say with our own ears? Assuming that's all right with you, Rex?"

Rex gives a tight, stiff nod. Touching Less' shoulder, she guides the man as he shuffles forward, his bindings making it hard for him to move. "Tell them what you told me. _All_ of it."

Less licks his lips, his eyes staying fixed on the ground, his bound limbs seeming to settle awkwardly no matter how he shifts. "I did it. I made the silver bullet."

There is a flurry of movement among the assembled alphas, and Apollo watches hands rise to sketch out various circular motions. Lang lifts his right hand to chest height, index finger curled tight to his palm while the tip of his thumb touches the tips of his other curled fingers. The crescent-moon shape of the wolves' Lady, their goddess of pack and prosperity—a sign to bring good fortune or ward off ill. It's not _exactly_ the same as what the others are doing, but between the familiar symbol and the way Lang is looking at him, willing him to understand, Apollo gets it.

Hopefully it's a good thing that the werewolves are as upset as Apollo is about silver being used by one of their own.

"I had to do it!" Less looks frantically around the assembly, his voice cracking up, a low whine underlying all his words. "It's something that had to be done. We can't let a night-cursed walk free among us. Bad enough we've got bloodlines mixing—having that _and_ someone cut off from the Lady's grace—"

"Less." Rex's voice is stern. "Who told you that you had to do it? Who talked to you about this?"

"Yes, Less." Pot leans forward, his eyes spearing through the submissive wolf. "Who told you what to do?"

Less leans back, but Rex isn't there to support him, having returned to her seat at her beta's side. Curling his shoulders forward, the submissive wolf whimpers and shakes his head.

"Speak the truth." Rex's voice is a whip-crack, the command in it obvious.

A long, low wail rises up from the man's throat, and he bends double, shaking violently in his restraints. "He'll _hurt_ everyone. He was just supposed to take care of the night-cursed. He said that he just wanted the silver bullets to put right what the Conclave incorrectly decided. Because you forget our own tales, our own truths, trying to blend in with the rest of humanity, and—"

"Less." Shae speaks calmly. "Did someone threaten your pack?"

Less stays bowed double. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"This is getting us nowhere." Rex scrubs a hand across her face, expression pained, and glares across the clear space surrounding Less at Pot. "When I questioned Less yesterday, he said that Destin Traitor-heart was the one who requested and claimed the bullets. Less had nothing to do with actually shooting Klavier."

Apollo steps in before everyone assembled can press the point, diverting attention away from Tainer and her distraught wolf. "That fits with my own findings."

"And mine." Klavier's eyes drift slowly around the assembly. "Though we found the materials clearly used to make the silver bullets in Rex's lair, we found no sign of the firearm used to shoot them."

Destin doesn't seem disturbed by the accusation, settling back and crossing his ankles. "You've had it in for me since I suggested we follow protocol and eliminate you both at the last Conclave. This is going above and beyond, though, even for you."

Apollo can feel his teeth gritting, shades of familiar frustration rising. Why is it so hard to get people to admit the truth of their actions? This man is like Crescend, continuing to deny and redirect despite any sane person being able to see what occurred.

Or maybe not _any_ sane person, because Lackey jumps in after a look at Pot. "Yeah! These guys are clearly using what happened to target their political enemies. Plus I don't think we've gotten the full story out of them. What happened after you got shot, night-cursed?"

"I bled. A lot." Klavier's tone is dry as he studies Lackey, meeting the man's eyes. It's Lackey who looks away first, shifting uncomfortably. "Do you have something more specific to add to your question?"

The silence drags out, and Apollo begins to think perhaps Pot really is too smart to give himself away. Especially when he sees Pot repeatedly making a hand gesture towards Lackey, but after about thirty seconds of silence Lackey gives a brief shake of his head.

Pot sighs, turning a bright, dishonest smile on Klavier. "You and your alpha both smell like your pack. It's good to be close together with the moon coming up on them, isn't it? But I also notice the smell of someone I haven't met yet. Someone who was perhaps not vetted before being added to the pack?"

"No, you don't." Apollo smiles at the surprised alpha. "We haven't been near Sebastian since we got up this morning. Between the shower and the clean clothes we got from Klavier's place, there's no way you've picked his scent out as something special. Unless you know that there should be another scent there. Because you saw an accident happen—an accident that you caused."

Pot waves a hand, giving a brief, unconvincingly chuckle. "Perhaps I've been over-interpreting the scents I'm getting, but it does sound like _something_ happened—"

"Many things happened." Klavier's hands have fallen to his side, and he stalks a step closer to Pot, his tone low and rumbling with an unvoiced growl. "I was speaking with a human friend on the roof when I was shot. Whoever targeted me waited until I was hugging him to shoot me—and yes, they succeeded in their intent. When the silver bit into me, I bit him—unwittingly, unknowingly, but I bit him. He will transform on the full moon. By luck he is handling the transformation with remarkable ease, and we will introduce him properly, but I will not bring him into the company of killers who believe our secret is a toy to be played with.

"Because that's what it amounts to, you know." Klavier takes another step towards Destin, who sits up straighter, his legs uncrossing. "What would have happened if I died and no one found Sebastian? We would have had a disaster on our hands, far worse than what happened with Apollo and I. And if Herr Edgeworth hadn't been present and able to dig the bullet out, what would forensics have said? Silver is not a common additive to bullets."

Pot straightens even further, a growl building in his throat. "These accusations have no—"

"You are an _Idiot_ , a _Dummkopf_ , a man too stupid for the power he has claimed." Klavier snarls, and there is very little human in the expression as he pauses just a pace in front of Pot. "If I had _not_ died, but lived to see a hospital? If they had taken the bullet out _there_ , and I had transformed? You risked _everything_ your fellows have fought to protect for centuries, and over what? Over a stupid rule about who is allowed to bite who?"

" _I did what was necessary!_ " Pot surges to his feet, his hands reaching for Klavier.

Klavier skips back a step, his fingers falling to lie above where the thick scar is, his eyes narrowing.

Pot bellows out a roar of surprise and pain, his left leg buckling under him. The child with him squeals, pressing her hands to her ears and squeezing her eyes closed.

Klavier freezes, gaze snapping to the girl, and it's only Apollo stepping forward and putting a hand on Klavier's shoulder that guides him back out of harm's way as Pot surges back to his feet.

Turning to face the rest of the Conclave, Pot stabs a finger back towards where Apollo and Klavier sit. "These pathetic accidents are not our friends and our allies. We have _true_ allies, ones who will let us be what we are meant to be. We have—"

Apollo cuts in, his voice overriding Pot's—he has never been more grateful for the Chords of Steel exercises. The last thing he needs is for Pot to somehow work the crowd up into a frenzy, especially if Pot realizes that Klavier just used a non-Moon gift to injure him. "What Destin has is a room full of artifacts from other bloodlines. A room where he is able to catch and torture ghosts. A room where he apparently takes _orders_ from ghosts. Kristoph Gavin's ghost was with him when he shot Klavier, hoping to make Klavier's spirit into some kind of slave. What kind of wolf are you, to let a dead man hold your leash and to offer someone else into servitude without their knowledge?"

A hiss runs through the Conclave, a dozen voices whispering as alphas and betas confer, and Apollo is glad that Lang was right about where opinion would fall. These wolves clearly don't like the idea of Pot selling Klavier into slavery, their glances towards Pot far more wary than they had been, their assessments of Klavier a tiny bit more sympathetic.

Pot whirls to glare at Apollo. "Do you have proof of any of this?"

Apollo shrugs. "I have a ghost who would be happy to testify, especially since he was almost destroyed getting the information."

To have Clay testify, they would have to destroy the anti-ghost charm they brought with them, but any antagonistic ghost would probably be wary about being around this many volatile werewolves. That's the hope, anyway.

Lang straightens, moving forward a step. "Why don't we just cut to the heart of the matter, Destin. Did you or did you not ask Less to make you silver bullets?"

Pot rolls his eyes. "Yes, I did, but—"

Lang nods and begins speaking again, his voice not necessarily louder than Pot's but managing to cut across it with ease. "Did you or did you not shoot Klavier Gavin with a silver bullet?"

"Yes, but—"

Lang shakes his head. "Did you intentionally do so at a time when our secret could have been breached?"

"Yes, but it was Gavin's own _brother_ who wanted that." Pot slices his hand through the air, a dramatic downward motion. "You all have to _listen_ to me. There are going to be changes coming soon—big changes. And they could be _good_ for us. You've always wanted change, right, Shae? Not to have to hide what we are? Well, you might actually be able to get some change in a way that won't be catastrophic for us. The World is coming, and if we play our cards right, we can control him." Pot turns from the stunned alphas to face Apollo and Klavier again. "And all we have to do to earn it is make sure that—"

It happens so fast Apollo doesn't quite understand what's going on until it's already done. Colyte stands up, his face a blank mask. Pot doesn't even notice him, too busy snarling at Apollo and Klavier. Then Colyte's hands are on either side of Pot's head, twisting with vicious force, and before Pot has even registered that he's in danger there's a _crack_ and he falls. Colyte doesn't stop twisting at the crack, though, allowing Pot's body to fall gently to the ground as he continues to determinedly turn the man's head a full one hundred and eight degrees around, and—

" _Stop it!_ " Klavier darts forward, coming to a halt in front of Pot and Colyte, staring down at the older man as he continues to go about his grisly work.

Colyte looks up at Klavier, voice and face far too calm for someone in the middle of committing murder. "No."

The little girl starts screaming then, a high-pitched, hideous sound of despair and terror, and all hell breaks loose.

XXX

The girl is terrified.

Klavier doesn't know if it's the simplicity or the depth of her emotion that allows him to pick it up clearly, but as she screams her agony out into the empty park it spikes through Klavier's heart, too.

Colyte just killed a man in front of them.

He just killed the man who shot Klavier, who is responsible for Sebastian being a werewolf now.

He just killed a man in front of a child—an alpha in front of one of the pack's children, perhaps a father in front of his daughter.

Klavier can't bring the dead back to life, but he can gather up the girl and protect her as Pot's allies and companions leap at Colyte.

Once he has the girl in his hands Klavier dives toward Apollo, trusting his alpha to give him warning, at least, if someone is after them. He can hear Lang, Shae, Juniper all talking, trying to keep anyone from leaving—Lang and Shae and Clemens and their betas all trying to break up snarling knots of wolves.

What have they done?

What could they have done differently?

The girl's wail has turned to howling sobs, and Klavier settles down behind Apollo, stroking hair out of her face. "Little one, _Kind_ , _Wolf-_ daughter, it's all right. No one is going to hurt you. Please, stop crying."

She bites him.

 _What did you expect, Gavin? She is a_ werwolf _who has just seen her alpha brutally murdered_.

Klavier's arms loosen as he's caught off guard by the unexpected attack, and the child squirms away. Raising a hand to his shoulder, Klavier finds that the girl overestimated the strength of her human teeth, and no blood has been drawn.

Not that it would matter if she had. He is already Moon. And he doubts werewolves carry rabies.

She yowls and snaps at him when he holds out a hand, skittering backwards over the grass, a human-form child moving as a frightened puppy would. Klavier can hear Apollo snarling behind him, the scuffle of bodies as the Conclave attempts to degenerate into a brawl.

He can't let the girl run off like this, scared and alone. (He knows what it is to love someone undeserving of that love, and as awful as it was to see Kristoph laid out in bloody glory in his cell, how much worse would it have been to _feel_ him die?)

She has been raised on fear, on obedience, and that is what Klavier uses to hold her, gathering up all his wolf strength and channeling it into voice and eyes. " _Kind._ Stay."

She does, freezing in place, her head hunkering down, her whole body curling as if for a blow.

Klavier edges towards her, places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Little one, it's all right. It's all right."

The girl looks up at him with a mixture of fury and terror. "He's _gone_. He's _gone_. How is he _gone_? He's _alpha_."

"Even alphas are mortal." Klavier strokes hair away from her face. "Even alphas make mistakes and poor decisions."

"I don't..." The girl shivers, tears overflowing her eyes. " _Why?_ "

"Was he a good alpha?" Klavier speaks slowly, gently, trying to think how best to get her to understand. "Did he hurt your pack? Because he hurt me, when I had done nothing to him."

The girl stills, though a faint tremble continues under Klavier's hand. Her voice is the barest whisper. "He's _alpha_."

She says the word with awe and wonder, as though it gives authority for everything and anything. Klavier draws a breath in through his teeth, knowing that he needs to find the proper words to get through to her. Some events form people, shape them into who they will be—he has seen it, as a prosecutor—and he wants, somehow, to salvage this for her.

To show her what a _real_ alpha should be, and he knows that it's possible. If he can pull a ghost into the pack-bonds for long enough to use them to save him, if he can read Edgeworth when Edgeworth would just possibly rather die than be a wolf, if he can share the pain that Pot inflicted on him with the man... he can show this frightened child what she _should_ be looking for in a leader, so that she doesn't continue to follow men like Destin Pot.

It is easy to call up his feelings for Apollo—his trust, his respect, his delight in how Apollo responds to teasing.

It's harder to find the girl, though she's sitting right under his hand. She isn't _his—_ he doesn't know her, except for the connection that pity and this whole miserable situation has given them. He doesn't even know her name.

But he knows what it is to mourn a man who deserved to die, and he knows what it is submit when he doesn't want to, and from those fragile bonds he is able to weave something more substantial.

To _show_ her what he needs her to see, and he doesn't really know what he's doing but he's managing it. He can feel her surprise, her tension, her hesitant, curious observances—it's good, that she's still curious. The worst abuse destroys even the impulse for curiosity in children.

Thinking of horrors was the wrong thing to do, and the connections slide out of his control, the whole pack suddenly clamoring in both their heads. It takes Klavier longer than it should to visualize his soundboard, to pull the girl _out_ of the pack-bonds and turn everyone else's channels _down_ so that he can make sense of his own thoughts again.

"What did he just _do_?" Lackey screams out the words, pointing at Klavier from an uncomfortable huddle of alphas and betas at the center of the picnic pavilion. "You all felt that—what the hell did he just _do_? It was _unnatural_."

Klavier arches an eyebrow, a headache starting to press at his temples. Really? He's being called _unnatural_ by a born _werewolf_?

The girl's hand slips into his, hesitant, uncertain. Her eyes flick between him and Apollo, and her voice when she speaks is once more filled with awe. " _That's_ what an alpha's supposed to be?"

Klavier nods, gathering his strength so that he can stand and move to Apollo's side without limping. " _That's_ what an alpha should be. What a pack should be. That's what we shall find you, _wolf_ -child, if you'll trust me."

For a moment he thinks she's going to run again; then she places her hand in his, stands when he does, walks with him to Apollo's side, and Klavier breathes a silent sigh of relief.

Perhaps there's still a chance for them to salvage this after all.

XXX

Apollo doesn't turn his eyes away from circle of wolves, but he doesn't need to. He can _tell_ where Klavier is, and something inside him relaxes when his beta is standing beside him.

Just a _little_ bit, because now isn't exactly a relaxing time, but it's definitely better to face it with Klavier rather than without.

Not that he's without assistance. Lang, Juniper and Hugh, Shae and Navon, and Clemens and her beta form a loose circle with him, ensuring everyone else stays inside the picnic pavilion rather than taking off. Colyte stands still, looking almost bored, Destin's mangled body at his feet. Colyte's beta stands beside him, her face betraying her unease, demonstrating that right now she is completely out of her depth. The rest of the alphas and betas—Pot's people mingled with those who were determined to escape rather than attack—have formed small huddles, no one wanting to sit down.

(Sitting down would show either weakness or an arrogance so grand as to be stupidity. Apollo _knows_ this, on a bone-deep level, and tries not to worry that knowing this makes him more like Colyte, ready to practically rip a man's head off without proper trial, than like the defense attorney he was two months ago.)

"Calm _down_." Lang's voice barks over the hushed whispering and Lackey's frenzied shouts with ease. "Do you _really_ want to bring human law enforcement down on us right now?"

"Then let us _go_." Apollo can't remember the name of the female alpha who speaks, her voice quavering with fear that she tries to disguise as anger.

Lang bears his teeth. "Not until we've dealt with this. Or does this Conclave need a proper alpha to oversee you all?"

Colyte turns to face Lang. "Careful what you try to bite off, Long Tooth. Some prizes aren't worth the effort to acquire them or the heartache to keep them."

For a brief moment Colyte meets Lang's eyes. Not for long, but it's still more than Apollo expected, and he mentally raises the other man's alpha status.

Not that any of that matters when you're a cold-blooded murderer.

Colyte's eyes turn to fix Apollo with a cold stare. "You are still new, Double-Gifted. Our justice is swift and total, but it is not so different from yours. Do you think death by hanging to be a pleasant experience? The years languishing in a prison cell an improvement over a quick finish?"

Apollo growls, the sound resonating in his chest as he tries to remember human words. _This_ is why they try not to hold Conclaves the day before the full moon—everyone is tense, ready to shed their humanity. "We give people a fair trial. We make sure they're guilty before passing judgment and issuing punishment."

One of Colyte's eyebrows rises. "We know he was guilty. _You_ know it, or you wouldn't have brought charges against him. He _confessed_ , here in front of all of us. He wasn't even ashamed, too caught up in his blasphemy to realize what he had done."

Colyte toes at the body with one of his shoes, grimacing.

Klavier gives a brief, humorless laugh. "That's why you did it, isn't it? Not because of the silver but because of the blasphemy."

"The silver _is_ part of the blasphemy." Colyte raises his head, turns to view the other alphas. "To use silver against another wolf is treason to the Lady and to all our kind. To do it with the recklessness that he displayed is to compound the crime. Is there anyone here who would argue against these points?"

Lackey opens his mouth, stares around at the silent crowd, and closes it again, his head dropping low.

Turning back to Lang, Colyte holds his arms out to the side. "I delivered our justice. Nothing more, nothing less. You have no reason and no right to interfere here."

Shae speaks, her voice also pitched to carry easily. "We _vote_ on our justice, Arthur. You had no right to act alone, Lady-lover, even if he insulted all you hold dear."

Lady-lover? Apollo blinks, fairly certain Shae wouldn't be insinuating in the middle of their discussion of a _murder_ that Colyte enjoys female company.

No, he knows what she means. _Lady_ as in their goddess, _Lady-lover_ as in someone devout. _Come on, Justice._ Apollo silently chastises himself. _Keep it together. Keep thinking. Figure out what to do._

It's hard, his ears still seeming to ring with the sound of Pot's neck snapping, the corpse still warm on the floor of the pavilion. _Doesn't matter_ , he reminds himself firmly. "It still... it's not _right_. I don't want this to happen again."

Juniper speaks up, her voice wavering. "Not without a vote. If we can't trust the others at this Conclave, then it will cease to function. If punishment must be meted out, everyone will have their say in it."

Klavier's jaw is clenched tight, one of his hands on the little girl's head, making sure she doesn't stare at the corpse of her alpha. His other hand slides out to rest on Apollo's shoulder.

"A vote for you, then." Lang eases out of his section of the circle, leaving only the local alphas to guard their own. "Shall Arthur be punished for his actions?"

Lackey is the first to speak, shouting out an affirmative.

Shae follows him, her arms crossed in front of her chests. "Not badly. He speaks truth about Destin, but he also acted without consult, and should show true apology."

Colyte inclines his head, calm, accepting.

Others give their votes, and it's clear after the first two that almost everyone is siding with Shae.

Eventually only Apollo is left, and he stares down at the corpse on the ground. Is this justice? Is this what he signed up for?

Klavier whispers in his ear. "They will not listen unless you force them to, _Mein Alpha_."

Not chastising, not saying Apollo _shouldn't_... just warning.

Is this what Apollo wants to risk everything over? A vicious, brutal man who attempted to kill Klavier, who sent Clay to be tortured, who somehow thought he could rewrite the world in his image?

Swallowing, the taste of blood seeming to rise up to coat his tongue, Apollo stares hard at Colyte. "I will accept minor reparations for failure to issue a vote."

Colyte smiles, and Apollo is the one who turns his eyes away, his arms wrapped around his chest as though the shivers that want to wrack his frame are from cold.


	14. Chapter 14: The Worlds We Create

_**Chapter Fourteen: The Worlds We Create**_

The Conclave begins to split up after that, Shae taking charge of the details that everybody seems to want to rush by. Colyte begins double-checking addresses, promising a check to each alpha within the week.

 _Blood money_ , Apollo thinks but doesn't say, knowing that the time to argue is long past. _Weregild from a werwolf._

How long has it been since he studied the legal history of giving payment in recompense for a murder? Too long, and here he is, living out a Dark Age legal strategy. Giving his head a little shake, Apollo tries to turn his thoughts to something—anything—else.

Less will go home with Rex, the alpha requesting that they reconvene the Conclave after the full moon to decide if more punishment will be needed than that which she and Klavier and Pot have already doled out.

The little girl will also go home with Rex.

"I know Destin's pack." Rex hunkers down as she says the words, putting herself on a more equal footing with the child. "Right, Ada? You know me."

The girl has been clinging tight to the edge of Klavier's jacket, Klavier's hand providing a blinder to keep her from looking towards the body. At Rex's words she turns to face the other alpha, sniffling a bit as she does. "You were friends with my alpha."

"I thought I was, at least." Rex's chest heaves in a silent sigh, a smile staying firmly in place on her mouth as she holds out a hand to the girl. "Would you like me to take you home? Your pack needs to know what happened."

Ada looks up at Klavier, clearly uncertain.

Klavier pats the girl on the head. "If you feel safe going with her, then do so."

Will she ever feel safe again? After seeing the horror inflicted on her alpha... why did Pot even bring her? Just to torment Apollo?

Maybe not. Maybe he brought the girl because he didn't want his beta around. Maybe his beta didn't know what the alpha was up to. Pot seems like the type of man who wouldn't share power readily.

Apollo's tongue ghosts over his lips as he makes sure his voice will be steady when he speaks. "What will happen to Destin's pack?"

Rex shrugs. "Hard to say. If the beta's dominant enough, he might step up and be their new alpha. If he's not... they either find a new alpha or the pack disintegrates, everyone going their separate ways."

"No!" Ada's denial verges on hysteria, the girl reaching out with hooked fingers to claw at Rex's face. "Don't _say_ that."

"Ada!" Klavier makes her name into a command, and the girl hunkers down, submissive.

Settling down on the ground next to her, Klavier puts one hand under the girl's chin, pressing gently until her eyes are no longer fixed on the ground. "Don't attack people, _wolf_ -child, unless there is no other option."

"But..." Ada's chin juts out, though her voice is the barest whisper. "The pack..."

"Is a beautiful thing, and your family. To lose family is terrible." Klavier's free hand strokes over the child's hair. "But you won't be left alone. I promise. Rex and I will make sure you have a good, stable pack."

Rex nods. "It's part of the Conclave's job." Concern enters Rex's face. "Though with the full moon tomorrow I don't know..."

"I'll go with you." Lang's shadow falls over Rex's face. "I'm good at claiming and releasing as needs must. If their beta can handle it, great. If he can't, I'll get them through the full and then they'll have some time to figure out what they want to do."

For a moment Apollo thinks Rex is going to argue. Instead she gives a small nod. "Thank you, Long Tooth. I hope you don't mind my driving?"

Lang waves a hand. "I hate remembering all the driving rules for different countries, anyway. Keep whatever control you need to in order to be comfortable, Stray-Saver."

It's amazing how the same words can have such different meanings depending on who's saying them. From Destin the appellation had been a clear curse; from Lang it somehow carries depth and respect.

Lang gathers the girl into his arms, chattering about Lang Zi and the Moon as he does. By the time they've reached the edge of the park, Rex beside them, Less being led by his beta behind them, Apollo thinks he can hear Ada give a small, hiccuping giggle.

"What _are_ you?"

The question comes out of nowhere, and Apollo rips his attention back to the present, a snarl pulling his lips up as Lackey charges into Klavier's personal space.

Klavier doesn't back down, though, staying perfectly poised, his hands sliding into his pockets. (A gesture of disrespect, of disdain, saying Lackey isn't enough of a threat to warrant all his limbs being free, and Apollo is somehow both proud of and frustrated with Klavier in equal measure for the motion.) "I'm Prosecutor Klavier Gavin."

Lackey snorts, a derisive explosion of air. "Like I care at all about that. What you did with that girl—what you did earlier—"

"I did nothing except try to comfort a child." Klavier's voice is flat, devoid of accent, and Apollo comes up beside him, places a hand on his beta's shoulder. "And I repeat what I said about who I am. I'm a prosecutor. I used to be a musician. I am currently an accessory to murder, as are the rest of us. Would you like me to continue?"

Lackey stares into Klavier's eyes for a brief second and then looks away. "I'd suggest staying out of trouble for a few months, _prosecutor_. It doesn't look good when a night-cursed keeps getting called before the Conclave."

Apollo growls, and Lackey backs up several steps. Apollo tries to keep his voice calm, but he can hear the tremble of emotion in it, and he's sure others can, too. "Klavier's only crime last time was _existing_. And this time it was having someone use silver against him. If you've got a problem, bring it up at the next Conclave."

There is a great deal they're going to have to discuss at the next Conclave. Pot's pack, Sebastian, what they've learned about the weird World-cult...

It can wait a little bit, though. First Apollo and Klavier have to get everyone else in their pack through their transformation—get _Klavier_ through the next full moon, burn the rest of the silver out of his system.

Lackey has apparently decided that he's not going to get any support in confronting Klavier, even his beta hanging back a respectful distance from Apollo. "Fine. We'll talk about it later. But don't think I'll forget."

"I hope none of us forget what happened today, _Herr Lakai_." Klavier's eyes deliberately shift to where Colyte and his beta are busy wrapping Pot's body in a blanket. "Some things should not be forgotten."

The pavilion is over half-empty now, though their allies haven't all left yet. Shae has apparently decided to take a page out of Lang's book and is leaning against one of the pavilion's posts, watching everything with deceptive calm.

Apollo pitches his voice low, trying and failing at not letting it carry as he addresses Klavier. "Anything else you want to do, or anyone else we need to talk with?"

Klavier shakes his head. "Let's go back to our pack, Herr Forehead."

Apollo takes Klavier's hand in his, the contact comforting, and wills strength to flow along their pack bonds. He doesn't know how successful he is, but he knows Klavier must be hurting after all the movement, and if there's anything he can to help he wants to.

A smile twitches at the corners of Klavier's mouth, small but genuine. "Your concern is appreciated, but I'm fine. What about you? You didn't get any nips or scratches during the tousling, did you?"

Apollo shakes his head. He had mostly growled and willed people not to run away, and they hadn't. Once Klavier grabbed the girl and yanked her away from the corpse of her alpha, protecting them had been Apollo's top priority, and no one had seemed overly eager to challenge him. "All in one piece."

Klavier's smile widens. "Good. That's exactly what we like to—"

"Ap—Mister Justice! Prosecutor Gavin!" Juniper's voice comes from behind them, and Apollo turns to see her sprinting across the dead grass towards them, Hugh following behind at a slightly more sedate pace.

Klavier also stops walking, the two of them turning to face Juniper as she comes to a panting halt in front of them.

Apollo waits for her to say more—to say why she chased them down—but Juniper takes a look at his face, flushes deeply, and drops her gaze to the ground.

Hugh comes up beside his alpha, gives her a look, and shakes his head. "Do you mind if we come over after this, Justice? To debrief a bit?"

"Oh. Uh." Apollo shrugs. "Sure. I don't see why you shouldn't. Though..." Apollo turns to Klavier. "Did we want to go back to Edgeworth's place, or somewhere else? I mean... I feel bad continuing to fill the Chief Prosecutor's house up with wolves, and since we're all out of the house at the moment..."

Klavier smiles. "Why don't we reconvene at my house? It's where we're going to want to be for the full moon, anyway. We can call the others, have everyone gather what they need and want, and meet there in... two hours? Sound reasonable?"

Juniper nods. "That sounds good. And Apollo..." Juniper reaches for his hand, though she doesn't quite touch it, snatching her fingers back to curl against her chest. "I'm sorry. About how awful today was."

Pressing his lips together, Apollo gives his head a little shake. "We can talk about it when we meet up later. You guys remember the code to get through Klavier's gate?"

Hugh nods, putting an arm around his alpha's shoulders. "We'll see you guys later."

Turning back around, Apollo continues to lead Klavier towards their car, hoping they'll both feel better once they're back together with the rest of the pack.

XXX

Apollo doesn't settle down with the pack like Klavier had hoped he would. Instead their alpha circles the house, despite Klavier's extensive security system—a security system that Kay deemed "adequate" after some adjustments, which means it should stop most things short of a nuclear weapon.

Grabbing two beers from the refrigerator and leaving his jacket on a kitchen chair so it won't get _too_ wrinkled, Klavier goes out on the back porch and waits for Apollo to circle around again. When he does, Klavier holds up the bottles. "Herr Forehead! Stop wearing tracks in my beautiful yard and come share a drink with me."

Apollo hesitates for just a moment before changing course towards the back steps to the porch and bounding up them, coming to a stop in front of Klavier. "This part of your yard isn't cultivated, and I'm not wearing tracks through it, anyway. I'm just making sure it's marked as ours."

Klavier raises both eyebrows. "The fence and the gate and my name on the deed say that it's ours."

"Well, Juniper said that having it smell like the pack's good to keep other werewolves away, so..." Apollo blushes a little bit, his voice taking on the hesitant, uncertain cast it does when discussing werewolf instincts. Glaring at the bottles in Klavier's hand, he gives a little sniff. "Is it safe for us to drink alcohol?"

Klavier shrugs. "Our healing factor allowed me to survive a bullet through the leg, being poisoned, getting mauled by a wolf, and being possessed by my bastard of a brother. If it can't handle a little alcohol... well, there are worse ways to die."

Apollo's expression clouds up, his scent darkening, becoming thick with anger and frustration.

Holding out one of the bottles, Klavier offers his softest smile. "Juniper said it's all right. Chocolate, alcohol, garlic, sugarless gum, pain medications—they're dangerous _during_ the transformation, and not particularly _good_ for us, and she recommends not eating a giant Easter rabbit made of dark chocolate, but we should survive _most_ things now."

"Oh." Accepting the bottle, Apollo stares down at it as though it were a foreign object. "Well. That's good."

"It is." Klavier takes a swig from his own bottle. "Can you imagine not being able to eat garlic? Or onions? There would be no Italian werewolves. They would all have committed suicide by cuisine, and enjoyed every moment of it."

Apollo's lips pull back from his teeth. "That's not funny."

"No. I suppose it's not right now." Klavier takes another swig. "It would be another time, but not when we've seen what we saw today."

The easy way with which Klavier acquiesces seems to relax Apollo a little bit, and he twists the top off his own drink. "I didn't... I _knew_ that was how these people deliver their justice, it's what we fought to avoid last month, but I somehow didn't think... I don't know. I thought we could _stop_ it, somehow."

"I had hoped the same." Klavier moves so that he's leaning against the porch railing again, staring down at the property that stretches out behind his house, giving the illusion of unlimited space and freedom. "That we could somehow find a different solution. Or... at least get more information out of the man before he died."

Apollo gives a jerky nod, his eyes closing as he comes to lean beside Klavier—to lean _against_ Klavier, his weight a comforting presence. "Do you think that's part of why Colyte killed him?"

Klavier shrugs. "I honestly can't say. I've never met him one-on-one. You did. What do you think?"

"I think..." Apollo's throat moves convulsively. "He's a very dangerous man. Hard to predict."

"I'd agree with that assessment." Klavier turns his bottle around in his hands. "I'm sorry I didn't help more. After... I felt the girl's fear, and I wanted to make it better. I wanted to have something I could _fix_ , because I didn't know what to do about Pot. But I shouldn't have done it without consulting you."

"It's all right." Apollo shrugs. "I didn't help much, anyway. Just growled and kept people from leaving. Lang and Juniper and Shae and Clemens were the ones who kept it from becoming a disaster."

"We have good allies." Klavier continues to turn the bottle around and around, the glass cool against his fingertips. "We are very lucky that way."

"We are." Apollo doesn't take a drink, just leaning more heavily against Klavier. "Did you... manage to help her? Using your..."

Apollo waves his fingers vaguely at his temple, causing a surprised, honest smile to tug at Klavier's lips. "I... think I was able to. I certainly tried. I gave her... something else to look for, aside from an alpha like Pot. A choice, at least." Klavier shrugs. "Only time will tell us which path she elects to follow."

Giving a tired nod, Apollo slumps against the rail.

Looping an arm around his alpha, Klavier pulls him close, the wolf portion of his mind sighing in relief at the simple physical proximity. (There is a part of him that is tempted to do more, to trail his lips along Apollo's hairline, but now is not the time for that. It is not what Apollo needs right now; not what the rest of the pack needs; and Klavier promised Juniper he would help Apollo notice her crush, when the time is right. Anything romantic can wait for a better time, even if the abrupt and unexpected presence of death this morning makes clinging to life and love seem all the more important.)

"Do you think..." Apollo's fingers rise, press against Klavier's arm, holding him tight. "All that Colyte said, about how their justice isn't... isn't much different than ours..."

Klavier holds his bottle up to the sun, watching the way the light filters through the brown glass, is swallowed up by the liquid that he hasn't drunk yet. "Have you ever been to an execution?"

Apollo shakes his head. "It... hasn't really come up for me yet. The first case I had that involved the death penalty was Alita Tiala, and she's still working her way through the appeals process. She probably won't be executed for another three, four years. The one I would have attended first would have been..."

Klavier smiles slightly, dangling the beer bottle over the edge of the porch, the lip caught between fingers that suddenly feel far too numb. "The first you would have been invited to would have been Kristoph's, but that became a moot point."

A slight shift of his weight, and Apollo is somehow even closer to Klavier, one of his hands sliding around Klavier's waist to hold him tight.

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, Klavier tries to banish thoughts of his brother. Kristoph isn't important now. The system that Kristoph was caught up in— _that's_ what he needs to focus on. "Were you planning on attending?"

Apollo hesitates before giving a brief, convulsive shrug. "I hadn't decided yet. I mean... part of me feels like I _should_ , you know? And... you would have gone, right?"

Klavier gives a brief, tense nod, willing himself not to envision what it would have looked like—Kristoph on the platform, Kristoph with the noose around his neck, Kristoph falling. (He fails utterly, as he does every time he has thought about this, but he at least _tries_.)

"I wouldn't have wanted you to be there alone." There is anger in Apollo's voice, but Klavier recognizes the emotion for what it is—defensiveness, protectiveness. (Anger is _safer_ for Apollo than grief, than fear, and perhaps Klavier would do better if he could learn to redirect the same way.)

"I wouldn't have been alone." Klavier rubs his head against Apollo's. "But I appreciate you wanting to be there for me. More than words can express."

"Hey, it's what friends are for." Apollo gives a tentative, hesitant laugh, his head rubbing against Klavier's chest a moment later. "Have... you been to executions?"

Klavier takes another drink, giving himself time to think about how much he wants to say. "Three times. For the first person Sebastian had executed, the first one I had executed, and for Sebastian's father."

A convulsive shudder runs the length of Apollo's body. "Did you... was it..."

"The deaths themselves were... remarkably similar to what Colyte did, yes. A broken neck is a broken neck." And though Colyte had continued to twist, to maim, to ensure their healing couldn't possibly fix what had been broken, the rope isn't always kind to the body, either. "But the _procedure_ , the lead-up, is completely different. It's... business. Everyone knows what's going to happen, and unless the person fights—which most of them don't, though Blaise DeBeste did—it's... it's hard to explain. There's this sense of _inevitability_ , but also of... simply filling in the blanks. Doing something routine."

Apollo's hands have clenched into fists, his left stretched out in front of him, his right pressed against Klavier's side. "It sounds awful."

"It isn't pleasant. It _shouldn't_ be pleasant, I don't think." Perhaps it had been _too_ pleasant, the times he went. Perhaps that was why he didn't attend any others—why there was a gap of years between the three that he attended. "But it's what our laws say should happen. It's _justice_ , isn't it? To do to them what they did to their victims?"

The silence from Apollo feels too much like judgment, Apollo's fierce, dark eyes staring out at the stunted trees that fill Klavier's back yard.

Klavier has to fill the silence, to give another side to the story. "Some of the prosecutors always attend the executions. Edgeworth does, if he's in the country. It never seems to bother him. And some of the ones who don't it's not because they disagree with it—Gaspen Payne never attends his, but it's because he's a lazy _Gammler_ who doesn't want to give up an evening to see a man die."

"So you think..." Apollo tilts his drink, frowning down at it. "You think it's _right_?"

"That is a very large question, and I no longer know if we're talking about our human justice system or our werewolf justice system." Klavier nudges Apollo's head with his nose.

"The death penalty." Apollo takes a swig of his drink. "You think it's right in the human justice system?"

Klavier sighs. "I think... there is nothing that could have been done to make Kristoph safe to be around. But perhaps... perhaps we use it too often. Not cavalierly, but... too often. Especially given what we know of the Dark Age of the Law."

Apollo gives a little nod. "And what happened with Pot?"

Closing his eyes, Klavier conjures up the alpha as he had been at the Conclave—arrogant, unashamed, unapologetic. Certain that he was right, that he was _just_ , up until the moment he died. "He would have tried to kill us again. He would have tried to turn others against us. It _was_ treason, to use silver against another wolf—to risk the Moon's secrets. And the punishment for treason is usually execution."

Opening his eyes, Klavier looks over to see Apollo biting down hard on his bottom lip. "So it was justified? It was _justice_?"

Klavier shakes his head, taking another drink. "Not the way it was done. Not like that."

Tension that Klavier hadn't noticed gathering eases out of Apollo's body. "And us letting it go? Ignoring it?"

"We haven't ignored it." Klavier shakes his head again. "We're picking our battles. There are those who fight against the death penalty, _ja_? Who say that it is never the proper answer?"

Frowning, Apollo gives a terse nod.

"They don't use people like my brother or Sebastian's father as their poster children. They use the ones who were wrongly convicted, or where the punishment seems disproportionate to the crime, _ja_? Well... we will do what they are doing. We will fight for a better justice system among the wolves." Klavier slams his half-empty bottle down on the railing, feeling wood and glass both vibrate a warning about the force he's expending on them. "We will never _ask_ for that kind of justice, and we make certain to try to _avoid_ it if possible. We will make them _better_ , whether they want to be or not."

"Just like we're making the human justice system better." Apollo's fingers curl around the porch rail, his beer bottle abandoned on the wood next to him, his voice seeming to grow in confidence and volume with each word. "Just like we're dismantling the Dark Age of the Law, whether it wants to go or not. We'll make things _better_ , for them and for us."

"We will make things better." Klavier raises his glass in silent toast. "Whether it wants to get better or not."

XXX

Klavier is the one who opens the door when Juniper and her pack ring the doorbell. He's misplaced his jacket somewhere, his shirt closed only with the barest minimum of the center buttons. " _Hallo_ to our allies. Welcome to our humble abode."

Stepping back and sweeping a brief bow, Klavier opens the door to let them into the foyer and from there the spacious living room. There is a slight slur to his words, a blatant theatricality to his actions that makes Juniper think perhaps he's been drinking, though it's hard to tell, faint traces of alcohol scent present around the house.

"Junie!" Athena springs off the couch and to her feet, causing Ema to give a little squawk of protest as her pen skitters across the page of the notebook she was writing in.

Gumshoe gives a little wave from where he's sitting with Sebastian on the floor, a guitar in each of their laps. Sebastian has a notebook with plain white pages open next to him, some kind of musical inscriptions scrawled in little stutters across it.

Juniper tries to smile at their host. "Looks like the whole pack's here."

Well, everyone but Apollo, but if the rest of the pack's here Apollo _must_ be, right?

Klavier nods. "All the _werwolf_ , at least."

Athena clasps her hands behind her back as she comes up to Klavier's side. "Mr. Wright said that he and Trucy could handle the office for a few days, so Apollo and I should just... focus on getting through this whole werewolf thing intact. We can go back into the office after I've successfully managed my transformation."

Ema snaps her notebook closed, standing up and stretching with it above her head. "Edgeworth said pretty much the same thing, though with an added side of 'we can protect all of you better if you're in one place'. He wants me and Gumshoe and DeBeste to stay here until we're all proper werewolves and are certain we've got everything under control. Which, hey, gives me some time to catch up on my research and on recording everything. Speaking of which, would you mind talking with me a little bit more about your experiences as a born wolf? And letting me take some measurements?"

Juniper offers the scientist a tentative smile. "I wouldn't mind. I'm happy to help any way I can. Though I was hoping..."

Klavier hooks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. "He's seeing what I have that is, and I quote, 'edible for normal people' in the kitchen, or if we'll have to order in for dinner. I'm sure he wouldn't mind talking with you."

Juniper glances at Athena, and Athena nods her head towards the kitchen. "Go on. I know it's been a rough day for all of you, and he'll be happy to have someone else as a distraction."

"I'm... not sure I'll be much of a distraction." Juniper's fingers twine together, moving knitting needles that aren't there. "But I'll... uh... I'll be back in a few, all right?"

It's definitely not her most graceful exit, and Juniper can hear Robin give a little snort of laughter as she skitters towards the kitchen, but it's good enough.

Apollo is indeed rummaging through cupboards, muttering to himself as he does. He's much more comfortable in Klavier's house now than he was the last time Juniper was here with him, when they performed the ceremony to Change Athena and Ema and Gumshoe. It brings a smile to Juniper's face—proof that Apollo's settling into his pack, relaxing into his role.

She hasn't quite managed to decide how she wants to say hello when Apollo whirls towards her, a box of stuffing in one hand, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The growl cuts off even before he sees her, his nose wrinkling adorably as he gives a little sniff. "Oh, hey, Juniper."

 _Juniper_. Is this the first time he's used just her given name? If it's not, it's one of the first times he's seemed so relaxed about it, and it makes her toes curl in a way that she should probably be embarrassed about. "Hi, Apollo. Need help with something?"

"How about teaching my beta what a sane human being keeps in his cupboards?" A smile flits across Apollo's face as he studies the box in his hand and sighs.

"Um..." Juniper can feel her face heating, and she twines her fingers together behind her back, not certain what she should say. It's clear that he's just teasing Klavier, and perhaps she should play along? This isn't what Juniper had been expecting after the Conclave, though. Given how upset Apollo had seemed she'd expected to find him brooding or angry or... well, not energetically tearing Klavier's house apart.

Setting the box aside, Apollo comes around the kitchen island to stand in front of her. "Nah, I know it's hopeless to get Klavier to act like a normal person. None of us would want that, anyway. But if you'd really like to help... would you mind talking to me about what happened?"

Apollo's voice deepens, roughens, his sharp, dark eyes seeming to see through her.

"At the Conclave?" Juniper clarifies, though she can't imagine what else he might want to talk to her about.

Nodding, Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everything that happened—is that how justice is usually delivered? How much of what Colyte said is true?"

Juniper gives an uncomfortable shrug. "We don't usually end up in situations like this. This is only my fourth Conclave, and I wasn't a proper alpha for the first one—I was just asking to be granted permission to form a pack."

"But from what you've heard..."

"From what I've heard..." Juniper swallows. How will he take this? Will he think that they're monsters—barbarians? "It was close to what should happen. You have to understand, Apollo. We're like... like the First Nations, in some respect. Our justice system is _ours_. If someone's found guilty of one of the serious crimes—murder, using silver against another wolf, Changing people without authorization—one of the assembled alphas is supposed to deliver justice. To... make sure they can't hurt someone else again. The big thing Arthur did that shouldn't have been done is killing before the verdict was given."

Apollo's nostrils flare. "I understand why you guys do things this way. I understand about it being hard to protect your secret, and about not wanting to have to figure out some kind of jail of your own, and even about the alphas deciding guilt—though the problem with that kind of jury is that it's biased. There's no way you guys can't help but be biased."

Juniper gives a little nod. "But we can't call other alphas in. Most wolves are far more comfortable in their own territory. Moving everyone—it would be a mess."

"But maybe worth it, if it kept something like this from happening again." Apollo raises his chin, determination radiating out from him. "Like I said, I understand how you guys ended up with the system you have. But I don't like it, and I'm not going to sit idly and allow people to die in front of me."

Juniper nods. "Okay."

"And I'm sorry if..." Apollo trails off, clearly surprised. "Wait. Okay?"

Juniper nods again. "Okay. I'm on your side, Apollo. I'm going into the human justice system too, remember? And you're right, we need to have a better trial system for the wolves. Well, ideally we won't have to have _any_ trials—I swear, despite what it has to seem like to you our people are usually pretty quiet and even-tempered. But if we have to have trials, they need to be fair."

"As a defense attorney I'd like to put in that I'm pretty sure the human trials right now aren't exactly fair—either the jury trials or the judge trials. It's something else I'm going to be working on." Apollo rubs at the back of his neck. "But they're at least _more_ fair than what happened today, and if you'd be willing, I'd like you to help me ensure the changes I want actually happen."

"Of course." Smiling, Juniper reaches out to trail her fingers across the hand that's on his hip—a gesture of camaraderie, of solidarity. "Any way I can help you, I will."

"Thanks." Apollo's hand unfists and pulls away from his hip, his fingers reaching out to squeeze hers gently. "I appreciate all that you did today—Klavier, too. Without you and Shae and Clemens and Lang, it could have really turned into a mess."

"It _did_ turn into a mess. But... hopefully we salvaged something from it." Juniper tries not to blush, the warmth of Apollo's fingers wrapped around her capturing most of her attention.

"We've at least got some plans for the future." Apollo releases her hand, turning back to the cupboards that he had been raiding before. "Speaking of which—what do you think of all the World... stuff? About the cult and the ghosts and the people maybe trying to control the world through, well, the World? The Feys aren't sure what to make of it—their big book of bloodlines seems more rumor and superstition about the World than fact."

"That's... pretty much how I've heard the World referred to all my life." Juniper follows Apollo behind the island. "As this... kind of fairy-tale figure. The culmination of all the bloodlines, if you believe the tales, but most people think that's silly. Crossing bloodlines is dangerous. You never know what the result's going to be—what's going to happen to the children. So the idea of managing to cross all of them..."

Apollo begins pulling boxes labeled in German out of the cupboard. "Has anyone tried to do it, do you know?"

"Of course." Settling on the floor next to Apollo, her skirt pooling around her, Juniper sighs. "Something being forbidden makes it all the more tempting, right? Every other century or so someone gets the bright idea to try just breeding the World. Especially since the World's supposed to have the ability to fundamentally change the universe—to rewrite basic laws of physics and existence."

Apollo stops fiddling with boxes to meet her gaze. "I take it from the dramatic pause that it doesn't go well?"

"I believe the usual phrasing is that they're 'cautionary tales'." Juniper rests her head on her knees. "Something always goes badly. Either the children just die, unable to bear the conflicting bloodline instincts, or everyone in their vicinity _wishes_ they had died."

Apollo scrubs a hand over his face. "The fact that my pack has a lot of mixed bloodlines in it..."

"Is going to make people look askance at you, when they figure it out." Juniper's eyes track towards the living room—towards where Klavier undoubtedly is. "And if your beta isn't careful, they'll figure it out quickly."

Apollo frowns. "I'm not going to tell him he was wrong. He was trying to help that little girl—something no one else there was thinking about doing."

"Everyone else there was busy trying to keep someone _else_ from dying, or the whole Conclave from splitting." Juniper makes the correction with her heart in her throat, trying to be both firm and gentle. "It's not a good thing when Conclaves fracture. When there's so much stress between wolves living in an area that they can't even work together to keep the laws... We had to make sure no one left so we could come to a reasonable conclusion."

"Right." Drawing in a deep breath, Apollo lets it out slowly. "That... makes some sense, I guess. The dangers of democracy—it's great when everyone agrees on the good things, no so good when everyone agrees on bad things. Like killing my pack."

"Everyone's _not_ going to agree to do that." Juniper raises her head, her teeth flashing briefly.

The smile Apollo flashes her is worth the unusual spark of anger. "I know. We've got at least one ally I can count on. So. We should try to be careful about our bloodlines. Gah... it makes me _irritated_ , thinking we need to _hide_ something."

"Just for a little bit, at least." Juniper draws her flower forward, taking a calming breath. What does she want more—for Apollo to listen to her, to keep himself and his pack safe? Or for Apollo to go charging ahead with what he feels is _right_ , that burning need for fairness and justice guiding him along a quicksand path to victory? "Until the others have gotten a chance to know you."

"Until we have more allies." Apollo gives a brief, fierce nod. "I don't like it, but I can do that. Though for the record I think Colyte's figured out about Athena's gift, or at least has guesses. And after the Conclave maybe Klavier's, too."

"He's..." Juniper sighs. "He's probably the closest thing my people have to a very religious man. He knows all the old stories about all the bloodlines, and he takes the Lady and the bloodline charges very seriously."

Apollo's eyebrows arch up. "Bloodline charges?"

Juniper nods. "The bloodlines were supposedly all given a purpose along with their gifts. For our people, it's keeping imagination alive—keeping the wonder and some say the fear of the unknown, the impractical, the fantastical burning bright in the world. The others all have their own thing, too, but I don't know most of them."

"Since it's not going to be on the bar exam, it had to go?" Apollo gives a knowing little smile as he stands up, apparently having sorted out the boxes to his satisfaction.

A small, brief laugh escapes Juniper. "I wish I could say that's all it was. And that probably isn't helping—I feel like I'll forget my own name some days. But mainly it's just... I don't know. It's never felt very _real_ to me. The pack's real, and my friends are real, but all the mysticism... I respect it, and I'm glad it's there for people, but... it never felt imperative for me to learn and follow all the little laws. I guess I've always lived more in the human that the Moon world."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Apollo leans against the counter. "Though I do find it interesting that the _other_ person who seems to have the most bloodline knowledge is Navon—Shae's beta. I guess sometimes religion and science come around to meet each other."

"Sometimes." Juniper stands, too, her skirt flowing around her ankles, the loose fabric making her itch to transform.

"What do you think of him and his alpha?" Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"What I've told you before. I respect Shae a lot. She's... a lot of what I'd like to be, if I were stronger." Juniper twines her fingers together. "She also scares me sometimes. She thinks there have to be better ways for us to do things—better ways for us to live. She... reminds me of you, sometimes."

Apollo's hand moves to the back of his neck again, and a tiny hint of color touches his cheeks. "I hope I don't scare you."

"Oh, no!" Juniper waves her hands in negation. "With you... I don't know. It's... different, somehow. I mean, I guess sometimes I worry about what you're doing—like when you were trying to defend me when you looked like you were going to pass out—but I never... I always feel like you know what you're doing. What you're aiming for. It's... really encouraging. Really _inspiring_ to watch you do... what you do."

"I'm glad." Apollo smiles. "Because Klavier and I decided that we're going to try to fix things—to make things better in the wolf world just like we're trying to make things better in the human world. And to do that I'll need someone who _knows_ the wolf world—someone like you to help me. Would you be willing to?"

Not trusting her voice to speak, Juniper gives a single, forceful nod.

Apollo holds out his hand, smile widening. "Shake on it? Alpha promise?"

Juniper takes his hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. " _Friend_ promise."

She almost passes out after making the proclamation, feeling her face flush redder than fresh-spilled blood, but if Apollo notices he doesn't say anything. Somehow his grin grows, becoming brighter than she thinks she's ever seen it. "Great. I appreciate it, and so will the others. Speaking of, we should probably get back to them. I'll be able to make something edible for the pack out of this mess and what's in the fridge."

"O-okay." Juniper forces her tongue to work, her legs to function—to carry her back towards the living room in Apollo's wake.

Apollo's eyes sweep over the assembled wolves—Ema and Robin circling a disgruntled Hugh with a variety of instruments, Athena and Sebastian and Gumshoe on the couch with instruments. "Where'd Klavier go?"

Athena points towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. "He got a phone call. Said maybe he'd get some answers finally." Athena winces, and Juniper strains her hearing, picking up just the faintest sound of someone yelling in alternating English and German. "I'm... not sure he's enjoying the answers."

Frowning, Apollo takes a step towards the hallway. "It wasn't Prosecutor Edgeworth, was it?"

"No." Sebastian shakes his head. "It was one of his parents—I couldn't see if it was his mother or father, but it was their area code."

"Oh." Some of the rising tension eases out of Apollo's shoulders, though he still looks towards Klavier's location. "Probably... better to let him sort that out."

Athena nods. "I'd say let him finish the conversation, at least."

"Once it's done he'll want—need—to talk to someone. Whether... whether he acts like it or not." Sebastian hugs the guitar that he's holding closer to his chest, his eyes on the floor.

He's going to be a very submissive wolf, Juniper thinks, and it takes an act of will not to walk over and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

She restrains herself, though, and is glad she did. Gumshoe's hand settles easily on Sebastian's back; Athena reaches out to take his hand; Ema drifts away from Hugh, reaching out to pat Sebastian's head.

They're already a well-bonded pack. They _shouldn't_ be—two-thirds of them aren't actually wolves yet—but Juniper can feel it in the air, in their interactions, a tight, strong connection like Shae has with her people.

Come what may, these people are going to face it down, together.

And given what she knows of them, Juniper puts all her money on them winning in the end.

XXX

Klavier sits curled up on his bed, his knees to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees, his eyes glaring daggers at the cell phone tossed onto the comforter in front of him.

Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out. He tries to follow the meditation training advice that Juniper gave all of them after the full moon ended, and even though he still maintains meditation isn't for him, it does help a little bit. It keeps him from hyperventilating with frustration, keeps him from Changing and wreaking havoc on his room—let's him keep the focus he needs to maintain his soundboard visualization, so that the others don't receive feedback from him.

They don't need this. Not on top of everything else that they're dealing with.

Someone knocks on his bedroom door, and Klavier squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to keep his concentration from fraying.

Everything is fine. It's confirmation of something that they had already guessed, nothing more. It doesn't really _matter_ , and if tomorrow weren't the full moon it wouldn't be bothering him so much.

But tomorrow _is_ the full moon, and he watched a man die this morning—a man who tried to kill _him_ , without ever having talked to him, premeditated murder based solely on rumor and Kristoph's orders, and—

"Klavier?" Athena's voice is quiet, calm, pitched so low it might not have been audible to Klavier before Apollo bit him.

It isn't who he was expecting— _none_ of the people he was expecting—and the surprise helps Klavier pull himself together, sit up straight and swipe a hand across his face and run a hand over his bangs to make sure they look decent. "Come in, _fraulein_. It's not locked."

The door swings open, not even a decent dramatic creak to it, and Athena takes a single step into the room. She offers him a tentative smile. "Hey. Everything all right?"

"Depends on what we are meaning by everything." Klavier shrugs. "Nothing more catastrophic has occurred, at least. How are you and Ema and Sebastian and the good detective managing?"

"I'm doing pretty well, actually." Athena comes a step closer, and Klavier pats the bed beside him, encouraging her to sit. She does, her hands settling gently in her lap. "My Strength bloodline's really coming in handy. I can tell when something _could_ push me into hurting—when something's more wolf than me—and usually I'm able to stop it, to center myself. I'm starting to get a couple aches and pains—apparently I don't get to be immune from that forever—but overall... it's going pretty smooth."

Klavier nods, watching Athena's fingers. A large part of him wants to reach out, take her hand in his— _at least_ take her hand in his, if not loop his arm around her shoulders, pull her in tight. She is going to be a part of his pack, and she is being open with him, and—and he is not Gitarre. He is wearing a human skin and will continue to act like a human being, at least for the moment.

Athena's left hand rises, covers half of the small distance between them.

Head bowing forward, a rueful smile pulling at his lips, Klavier claims her fingers, holding them tight.

Athena sighs, a tiny smile touching her own lips. "It's nice. The physical contact. It's... the wolf _needs_ it, doesn't she? I mean, people need physical contact too, touch starvation is a thing, but the wolves need it even more."

"Gitarre certainly craves it, and I feel more... comfortable when I've had it, especially around the full moon." Klavier gives her fingers a brief squeeze.

"It's not a bad thing, I don't think." Athena leans a little bit closer to him, moving slowly, deliberately—giving him time to move away if he wants, but Klavier doesn't want to. If she's comfortable being close to him, he's happy to oblige.

"It's not. For me..." A soft chuckle works its way out of Klavier's throat. "I've always been a more physical person, I suppose. It's definitely _more_ now, but it's not... I don't mind it."

"Me, either." Athena tilts her head to the side, her cheek brushing briefly against his shoulder. "And Detective Gumshoe seems pretty comfortable with it, too. Ema's a little less certain, but she's doing better since Gumshoe set her to thinking about how one could try to quantify desire for physical contact so that she can better study it. Sebastian..."

Klavier winces. "Sebastian was never a very physical person. He... it's a long and sad story, as most of ours are, but learning to be comfortable with touch at all took him a long time. It... will be one of the harder things for him to adjust to, I think."

"He's managing it, though." There is certainty in Athena's voice. "I can hear it in his voice—his discomfort, but also his... he wants to be all right. He wants to make this work. Despite how much it's scaring him, he wants to be all right."

Closing his eyes, Klavier adds the clause that he suspects Athena is dancing around. "For me? Because it's my fault he's..."

The tips of Athena's fingers find Klavier's chin, turn his head so that they're face to face. "For himself, partly—he's not suicidal, and he knows if he fights the transformation it's asking to die. For you, yes, partly, because he cares about you deeply and knows that seeing him hurt makes you hurt. For Ema and Gumshoe, partly—whatever our weird pack-bonds are, it means we share pain, and he clearly respects and likes the detectives. It's... probably good for him, that the pack's weighted a bit more towards you guys' side of the legal force."

"It's..." Klavier has to swallow and clear his throat, his voice too thick to be properly understood. "It's actually quite balanced right now. Two prosecutors, two defense attorneys, two detectives. We just need to find some judges now."

Athena smiles. "I don't think that the detectives get to be neutral parties, but you're right. Our pack's a pretty good combination."

"We are." Klavier finds himself nuzzling against Athena's red hair, his arm around her shoulder.

She doesn't tense or fight at all, settling into the embrace—returning it, a bit, her arm sliding around his chest. "So that's the run-down on the new wolves. How are _you_ doing?"

"I am fine, _fraulein_." Klavier smiles, feeling like the words are _almost_ true now. Strange what a little bit of conversation, a little bit of comfort can do.

"That... is _almost_ an accurate statement. Which is good. I'm glad." Athena grins up at him. "The last thing we need is Apollo spreading his bad habit. But you weren't so fine during the phone conversation, were you?"

Klavier shrugs. "As I said, it's nothing important."

"It upset you." Athena's fingers tighten around his. "We could all _feel_ it, Klavier."

"Ah..." Klavier pulls back a bit, his face heating. " _Verzeihung_. I was trying not to let you."

"Yeah." Athena's thumb moves, rubbing a small circle on the back of his hand. "We could feel that, too. It's... oh, man, it's hard to describe what it's like when the pack bonds constrict down. It's like... if your vision suddenly tunneled down to half of its normal diameter. Except it's not really _vision_ , it's this sense we didn't even _have_ before, but it... feels kind of like vision. Like another sense. And if something suddenly takes it away, it feels weird."

Klavier finds his body going very still, his breath caught in his throat. Is it like that _every_ time he attempts to keep from sending the pack things he doesn't want them to see? How is he supposed to keep even a semblance of privacy if that's the case? He loves being close to the pack, loves that they _have_ these bonds, but if he can't block everyone out...

He likes to think he's a halfway decent person, but he's not a saint, and if they're going to be able to see _everything_ because of some stupid bloodline interactions—

"It's not always." Athena's voice is fast, one of her hands rising to stroke along his cheek as her head nuzzles against his shoulder. "Last night? Last night was good. But today? There was something different about what you were doing, and it was kind of uncomfortable. Maybe because _you're_ uncomfortable? Because you're trying to keep your hurt from showing over the pack-bonds even though it maybe needs to?"

"It doesn't need to." Klavier gives his head a little shake. "It's _silly_. It shouldn't be bothering me this much."

"It might be silly." Athena sits up a bit straighter, turning them so they're face to face. "That's all right. People are allowed to be silly, especially when they've been through a lot. They're allowed to be unreasonable and petty and ridiculous, provided they _realize_ that and try hard not to hurt others with those pesky human emotions. Why do you think I came to talk to you, Klavier?"

Klavier blinks, caught off guard by the seeming change in topic. "Because... I have no idea, _fraulein_. Because you missed the pleasure of my company?"

"It _is_ pleasurable company." Athena reaches up to toy with his bangs. "And I do like spending time with you. So does the rest of the pack. Both Apollo and Sebastian were ready to come charging in, but I thought maybe it would be better if you and I got a chance to talk first. Because though we've been friendly and I like you—as a friend—you haven't had as much time to come up with a persona for interacting with me, and I thought maybe that would make this a little easier."

The smile that Klavier had donned as Athena said that they're becoming friends slips. "I don't use a persona when interacting with them."

"You do." Athena gives his hand a little squeeze. "And it's all right. Your appearance is important to you, isn't it? Not just how you look, but how people view you."

Shrugging, Klavier looks away. "I have been a performer basically all my life. They are hard habits to break. But I am honest with my friends."

"I never said you weren't. But you do... choose how you interact with them." Athena speaks slowly, picking her words carefully. "You like teasing Apollo, finding and pushing his boundaries just a little bit. You're fast with your words, and you play up your accent and your musicianship, while at the same time making sure he knows when you're serious. With Sebastian it's different—you speak slower, you're more protective, you use less of an accent. Not that you trust or like one more than the other—anyone can see you're friends with both, you don't need my ears to pick up on the affection—but you do have this... way of changing how you're interacting based on _who_ you're interacting with. With Edgeworth there's teasing and respectful; with Mr. Wright..."

Klavier studies the young psychiatrist, impressed with her observational skills and wondering what it means. (Does it have something to do with his second bloodline? Does it _matter_?) "And with you?"

"With me you're still figuring things out. So maybe instead of trying to be tough or just brush off whatever's bothering you, you'll tell me about it." A little lopsided smile touches Athena's mouth. "Plus I _am_ qualified to help deal with difficult emotional topics."

Klavier sighs. "It's really... it's something I shouldn't have let bother me as much as it has. I called my parents to get confirmation of my second bloodline, and I have. Apparently I am three-eighths incubus—a quarter on my mother's side, an eighth on my father's side."

"Ouch." Athena winces. "That's got to be rough, learning they kept something like that from you for your whole life."

"From me and from Kristoph." Klavier turns Athena's hand over, tracing the lines in her palm. "They thought we didn't have enough blood for it to matter. Lovers tends to regress quickly when mixed with other bloodlines, leaving perhaps a higher than usual charisma and good looks but nothing that will actually change or interfere in one's life."

"Good looks and charisma can have a heck of a lot of impact on someone's life, but I get what they were saying." Athena sighs. "I don't _agree_ with it, but I get it. That's what's got you so upset?"

Klavier shakes his head. "Well... _ja_ , but also no. There is... a strained history between my parents and myself right now. They loved Kristoph dearly. He was their first child—their perfect child. Not to say they didn't love me, as well, because they _did_ , but..."

Athena nods. "I didn't have any siblings, but I imagine living in your brother's shadow wasn't easy."

"I escaped it. I became _better_ than Kristoph, I thought—a successful legal professional as well as a successful musician." Klavier tries to laugh, though the sound seems forced and hollow even to his own ears. "What parent is proud to say that their child is a rock star beloved by teenage girls, though? They were glad that I was happy, but they... could have done without their name being synonymous with the teenager on the radio singing about underaged drinking."

Athena tilts her head. "Was it underage drinking where you wrote it?"

This time Klavier's laugh is a little more honest. "Given the _type_ of drink I felt the need to mention, _ja_ , though I did make that argument as well. A song written in Germany should be judged by those standards."

"The situation should always be taken into account." Athena continues to reach out and fiddle with his hair.

Does she realize he likes it? Can she feel _that_ through the pack bonds, or is it merely that she needs something to do and the moon buzzing high in both their veins makes it hard to maintain personal space?

"It should be. Probably more than we're able to, legally, but it should be." Klavier leans into her touch, his body relaxing, tension sliding out of his shoulder muscles with every stroke of her hand.

"Is it just old tensions between them and you that made this hard?" There's no censure in Athena's voice, no hint that if he says yes that will make him a bad or petty person.

Klavier still feels relieved that he's able to honestly shake his head no. "I helped Apollo put Kristoph in jail. I helped make sure all Kristoph's appeals failed. I killed my brother—because he deserved it, because it needed to be done, because that's what I would have done to anyone _else_ who did what he did... but they weren't there. They didn't see how he acted, didn't hear what he said, and they don't want to believe me when I repeat it. They want—wanted—there to have been some mistake. And I don't blame them for that. I wish the same, honestly. But it's... made things difficult."

"And adding them keeping information from you for years didn't make it any easier." Athena's left hand slides around his shoulders, her head resting on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I can understand why they didn't tell me. If _this_ hadn't happened..." Klavier clenches his right hand, the scar Apollo gave him standing out stark white on his forearm. "I would likely never have needed to know. But since it has..."

Athena makes a little sound of acknowledgment. "What does it change? Having confirmation?"

"It means..." Klavier frowns, struggling to define exactly what has changed. "All the stories I have heard about my family... about how Grandfather was so smart and clever and managed to immigrate because of it... he was a full-blooded _incubus_. He _cheated_."

"Is it cheating to use your gifts to escape an untenable situation?" Again the question feels like an honest one, like Athena is inviting him to discuss his opinions with her.

"If your gifts include charming people into doing things they wouldn't necessarily, managing to convince them you have a bond that isn't really there..."

"Or maybe just highlighting a bond that _is_ there, one that prejudice and language barriers can make hard to surmount." Athena lifts her head. "Can you talk to any of your full-blooded Lovers relatives about how their gift works?"

Klavier shakes his head. "They are all dead, and neither of my parents inherited enough of their parents' gifts to do more than, as my father so _nicely_ put it, _smooth the way_ for themselves."

"And that's part of what bothers you, isn't it?" Athena sighs. "The idea that you haven't _earned_ your successes. That you've maybe cheated your way to them somehow."

"My _family_ bothers me." Klavier raises his left hand to rub at his temple. "Kristoph ensured that it always will, and I'd say damn him except with my luck right now Hell is real. And finding out that there are more lies in my past... finding out that I may have done things without realizing... _yes, ja_ , it bothers me."

"You haven't." Athena takes both of his hands in hers, sitting up straight and meeting his eyes for a few seconds. (Then she looks away, less dominant than him—less scarred than him? More capable of accepting another's control, where he balks at all but a very few telling him what to do now?) "Everything that's happened, we've been figuring it out together. You used the pack-bonds to heal yourself, and if you hadn't the rest of us would've been trying to figure out how to force it. You've made our pack bonds stronger than they would've been, yeah, but that's not—it's something that _happened_ , something we're all getting used to together. You haven't manipulated or hurt any of us, and we trust you _not_ to. Do you think any of us would be all right with you being beta if we didn't trust you?"

Klavier pauses, swallowing as his throat tightens with emotion. Would they? Ema has never had a problem letting him know what she thinks of him. Apollo, too, tends to be upfront about concerns. Gumshoe... for all Gumshoe's failings, he is a remarkably good judge of character, seeing the truth of people even when they can't see it for themselves.

And Athena... she has just told him outright that she wouldn't tolerate him in the pack if she didn't trust him. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Maybe a little bit." Athena smiles encouragingly at him. "Mostly you're being human. We've been through an incredible amount of stress over the last few days. That makes it harder to take new stress. But if you don't mind my making a suggestion..."

Klavier smiles. "I would not be a very good friend if I did."

"Tell us when things are bothering you." Athena's fingers tighten around his. "Come talk with us. Because we're going to notice—we can't help but notice. And because I think you do better when you've got people you trust and can let see what's going on."

"You..." Klavier sighs. "You're a frightfully insightful person, _fraulein._ "

"I'm a cheater." Athena frees one of her hands so she can gesture at her ear. "I _hear_ things. I'd be kind of a terrible friend if I didn't use what I hear, _ja_?"

"I don't think anyone in our pack could be terrible." Klavier strokes a hand through Athena's hair. " _Danke_. For coming to talk with me, and being so understanding."

" _De nada_." Athena's smile is bright and open, and Klavier shivers as he _feels_ a frisson of her joy seem to run through their hands where they are still touching. "You feeling up to facing the rest of the pack now?"

"There's nothing else I'd rather do." Klavier pushes himself to his feet, holding out a hand to Athena to help her up, too.

XXX

Apollo tries to focus on Juniper, but he finds his attention returning again and again to the closed door that's hiding Klavier and Athena. Though he understands why Athena had wanted to go talk with Klavier, the need to go fix whatever's bothering the prosecutor—the need to _protect_ , to _defend—_ is hard to overcome.

It isn't helped by the way Sebastian is looking between the door and Apollo, clearly wondering if Apollo has something to do with Klavier being upset.

"—that's why you should definitely paint all your new wolves bright green."

Apollo blinks, turning to face Juniper. "I—come again?"

Juniper gives a little sigh. "That's what I thought. You guys are really tightly tied together."

"Yeah." Now it's Apollo's turn to sigh. "I'm sorry. I just..." 

"Worry about your pack. It's all right." Juniper smiles at him. "But part of being a good alpha is trusting your pack. If they say they can do something..."

"I _know_." The words are more forceful than Apollo intends, and he forces himself to stop, to draw a deep breath.

Juniper studies him, her head tilted slightly to the side. "And the good thing about being bound so tightly together? You tell when someone's hurting and upset... but you can also tell if things are better. Have you tried sensing him recently?"

"I'm still trying to get used to using sentences like _have you sensed him_ in a non-ironic way." Despite muttering the words, Apollo closes his eyes, trying to focus on the part of his mind that had told him Klavier was upset before.

And finds... a wall of calm. It's not the _tightness_ that had been there before, the stranglehold that felt like suffocation on the pack bonds. Klavier feels... normal.

The bedroom door opens a moment later, and Klavier emerges with Athena right behind him. Klavier's eyes immediately find Apollo's, and he smiles, an accompanying spike of affection flowing along their bond before it fades back to the blank wall of calm.

It isn't Apollo that Klavier approaches. It's Sebastian, Klavier settling down next to the other prosecutor and making a fuss of rearranging Gumshoe's fingers on the frets of one of the guitars.

Sebastian _needs_ Klavier there—needs to see and hear and feel that things are all right, that _he's_ going to be all right. And Apollo's _glad_ to see Klavier helping the more submissive wolf—glad to have his pack spread out around him.

Juniper's fingers glance across his forearm. "There's still a lot to work through—ghosts and cults and changes in systems to be made—but right now..."

Apollo pulls up enough energy to flip his vision into the wolf's muted tones. It happens easily, the moon singing in his blood, and he watches Clay for a moment, lounging on the back of the couch, one hand on Sebastian's head as he watches what the musicians are doing with apparent interest.

Banishing the power back down is harder to do, but Apollo manages it, turning to smile at his friend. "Right now, everything's going to be just fine."


	15. Chapter 15: Changing

_**Chapter Fifteen: Changing**_

Edgeworth stares down at the tea in his cup—at the hazy reflection that shows in the still liquid.

 _How much do you want to know, Herr Katze?_ There had been teasing in Gavin's voice, but there was too much iron underneath it for Edgeworth to believe nothing of import had happened.

 _The less you know, the more you can honestly deny, should worst come to worst._ Gavin hadn't said _what_ worst could be—perhaps because they all know better than to assume that they can guess?

Edgeworth had asked to know everything, of course, in as much detail as Gavin could conceivably give. Even if he had tried to hide from the truth, Wright would have heard from his people, and Edgeworth isn't going to let Wright be more involved in this than he is.

He isn't going to leave Gavin and Ema and Sebastian tied up in this while trying to keep his own hands clean. It wouldn't work, for starters, and it wouldn't be worth it in the long run.

His people are more important than his reputation. Doing what's _right_ is more important than doing what's _legal_. He decided that eight years ago, and it's not a stance he's willing to back down from.

Even if it sometimes leaves him in situations like this, with no clear path forward and a headache that started eighteen hours ago with Gavin's phone call and hasn't subsided since.

 _One of the alphas is dead—the one who shot me._ Klavier's voice had hitched, just slightly, and Edgeworth had _almost_ broken in to say something reassuring. If it had been Sebastian, he probably would have, but his relationship with Klavier is still too tentative, too uncertain, and by the time Edgeworth had decided he should say something Klavier had already pressed on with the story.

A man is dead, and they likely won't find the body for several days. When they _do_ find it, the cause of death will be clearly accidental. Lang had been adamant that Edgeworth didn't need to worry about it when Edgeworth called him to demand an explanation.

How can he _not_ worry about it? All it will take is one too-determined forensic detective to completely unravel the secrets that the Moon people are willing to kill to protect.

 _Not just one._ Lang had been trying to talk soothingly, crooning every few seconds to a crying child of indeterminate gender. _It never takes just_ one _person to change the world that dramatically. That's why we have people like_ you _, Mr. Prosecutor—people to distract those who might learn more than they should._

Edgeworth has been a liaison for the wolves for years, but it's only now that he's really starting to understand exactly what he's promised to Lang. To keep the wolves' secret he will have to use his position and authority to redirect honest inquisitions by those just trying to do their jobs. How far will he have to go? How long will it be before he is given the choice of telling someone the truth or letting them think they're crazy? How long before he has to threaten someone's pay or job in order to prevent them from learning what they aren't supposed to learn?

How many bodies will he willingly turn a blind eye to in order to protect people dear to him?

He didn't even like Destin Pot. The man was an arrogant bully, and Edgeworth has had more than his fill of the like between Von Karma and Gant. But to know he's been left for wildlife to maul, his body unburied, unmourned; to know that his corpse was dropped somewhere to ensure his execution will look like a tragic accident so that his pack can have access to the funds they will need—

Edgeworth is used to executions. He usually sees at least one person die a year, attending every time he has a case that results in the death penalty being granted. At twelve he learned to distance himself from the terrible business that is organized death, to watch men fall and twitch and breathe their last without batting an eye; at thirty-four shouldn't he be immune to unease at the thought?

It's illegal, of course. The wolves holding their own trials—a jury system, and wouldn't Phoenix find that easier to tolerate than the trials Miles is still more used to? The wolves determining their own justice—a vicious, brutal, quick justice—is utterly and completely illegal. Perhaps it could be _made_ legal, if they were willing to come forward, to argue their case for having their own separate justice system, but they refuse to do so. Miles using his connections and influence to protect those illegal practices...

He is used to travel. He's probably one of the best-traveled prosecutors in the world, intimately familiar with over a half-dozen legal systems. He knows that what is illegal in one country can be perfectly legal in another; what is punished with death in one may be simply a lifetime in prison in another. And the ancient codes that Miles studied in the years leading up to the bar, where many societies proclaimed an eye for an eye, a mauling for a mauling, a death for a death...

 _Legal_ is not _moral_. He knows that. And to be _moral_ must come first—if it takes an illegal action to prevent a murderer from escaping; if it takes being thrown in prison to ensure he doesn't let an innocent suffer; Miles _made_ those choices, long ago, and he still doesn't regret them.

So why is he regretting this? Why did he sleep so poorly last night, despite his house finally being werewolf-free? Why has he been staring at this request for fifteen minutes—a request that he still couldn't summarize despite having read it at least four times?

If he can't trust _legal_ to be _moral_ , how is he supposed to keep that boundary firmly defined—keep from _crossing_ it? If he's accepted that he's going to abuse his position, what is to keep him from becoming like Gant, manipulating whatever he needs to in order to achieve his own personal gains?

Pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, Edgeworth pinches at the bridge of his nose. At least he can say that he's not in any danger of becoming a monster _now_. He's certain Gant never fretted and fumed this much about any of his decisions.

(Perhaps Kristoph Gavin did. Perhaps Manfred von Karma did. For them the fretting would have been about losing what they had, though—about losing the power, the prestige, the control. Miles just doesn't want to lose _himself_ , to look back and realize with horror that he's stumbled far over the line he swore to his father's ghost he would never cross.)

((He almost thinks he can feel a hand against his shoulder, firm, strong—a touch he hasn't felt in over two decades, a touch he tried to teach himself to forget once upon a time—but that's _ridiculous_ , and he slides his glasses back on, determined to finish his work.))

A knock at the door ruins his concentration when he's only a paragraph in, and Miles sighs, shoving the paperwork aside. Clearly this just isn't meant to be done right now. Calling for the person to come in, Miles picks up his tea cup, cradling the lukewarm liquid between his hands and taking a drink. Maybe the caffeine will make his head feel better.

The person who enters the office certainly doesn't, and Miles finds himself straightening, trying not to hiss out a dismayed curse as Simon Blackquill stalks in. Of all the people to have to verbally spar with when he's not feeling his best—

"Edgeworth-dono." Simon doesn't incline his head, but he does add the honorific to the end of Edgeworth's name. Between that and the quiet way Simon closes the door behind him, ensuring it's firmly shut before moving to stand dead center in front of Edgeworth's desk, Miles knows this is going to be a fraught conversation. "We have a few things to discuss."

Edgeworth takes another sip before setting his cup down, gesturing for Simon to continue. It's always best to learn what the other party intends and knows before giving out information of one's own. It's why Edgeworth sometimes wishes the prosecution didn't have to go first, though there is also an advantage to making the first move.

Drawing a slow breath, Simon crosses his arms in front of his chest. Taka is apparently still in the prosecutor's office, since the hawk isn't on Simon's shoulder—that or the bird's harassing people at the courthouse on its own, expanding its master's reputation.

Apparently they're going to sit like this, then, Simon hoping that if he stares at Edgeworth long enough Edgeworth will start speaking. Very well, then. "What is it that you wanted to discuss, Prosecutor Blackquill?"

Simon frowns, just a brief flicker of irritation, and then smiles again. "Are there multiple infractions that I should be aware of, then?"

Miles knows he shouldn't let the accusation bother him, but it falls too in line with his own thoughts. His fingers tense around his tea cup, and he makes sure to raise the mug to his lips in a smooth, calm motion, not wanting to give away how close to home the barb hit. "What kind of infractions could you be alluding to?"

"There's only one case that you've been directly involved with these last few days." Simon takes a step closer to the desk. "The case involving Gavin and DeBeste—two men who have mysteriously disappeared from the office."

"Gavin will be back to work tomorrow." Edgeworth manages to keep his voice bored and bland. He will have to be careful what work he gives Gavin—the full moon and the new wolves will likely both make the singer more taciturn than usual—but the silver injury should be healed by then, and if it's necessary to break up suspicion then Edgeworth knows Gavin will manage. "I'm expecting Prosecutor DeBeste back in three days. If you've questions about where they are, I'm sure they would be happy to talk with you. I believe both have given you their personal numbers, even."

"I'll make sure to do that." Simon's eyes narrow. "There is still a great deal of suspicion about their disappearance—especially since Detective Skye, Detective Gumshoe, Athena Cykes, and Apollo Justice all disappeared at the same time."

Miles arches both eyebrows up. "Are you suggesting they are off somewhere with defense attorneys?"

"Fraternizing with the Wright Anything Agency seems to be a common affliction about the office." Simon leans forward. "Athena hasn't been home in two days, and her office has barely been open in that time. Gavin's blood is all over the roof of the prosecutor's office, but no one matching his description has been admitted to one of the hospitals in the city. You have forensics performing tests off the book on pieces of evidence. Evidence from a crime in which a prosecutor was injured—a crime that _you_ , Demon Prosecutor, have made _no_ forward progress on in two days. A crime you seem determined to see buried instead of solved. What is going _on_?"

" _If_ it was Gavin who was shot and not an animal, it wouldn't be very protective custody if the hospitals were to announce his presence to anyone who went looking. And protective custody would explain two missing detectives." Edgeworth meets Simon's eyes evenly, willing him to accept the explanation.

Simon shakes his head. "If it were true, you would have told me, instead of hoping I would accept a plausible excuse. And nothing in that scenario explains why Athena is involved, or why Gavin is coming back to work three days after being shot."

His headache is spiking again, and Edgeworth reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose again. "I have been investigating the case to the best of my ability, Prosecutor Blackquill. Is your concern more for Prosecutors Gavin and DeBeste or for Ms. Cykes?"

Simon's breath explodes out in a low hiss. "The two are connected."

Pressing home the advantage—feeling vaguely guilty for doing so—Edgeworth sets down his mug. "If your roommate has decided to go somewhere for a few days, that is the young woman's prerogative. Has she been incommunicado? Do you have reason to believe she's in danger?"

"No, I've been able to get ahold of her. But—"

"Then there is no case to be made, and only correlation between her disappearance and the case here." Edgeworth pulls the papers he had been failing to read earlier closer, sliding his glasses back down his nose. "I would appreciate you not needlessly complicating what is already a messy situation due to your own personal—"

"You and Detective Skye worked together to have the forensic scientist colloquially referred to as Firefly perform ballistics tests on a bullet—a _silver-plated_ bullet—that said scientist was told was pulled from the leg of a dog." Blackquill takes another step closer. "Imagine her surprise when I had her run a simple DNA test that proved the biologiacl material on it to be human blood. Klavier Gavin's blood, if I am not mistaken."

Edgeworth is silent, trying to think of a way to explain this new twist.

Blackquill doesn't give him a chance to. "You are hiding evidence, Edgeworth. Committing fraud. Manipulating a system that you have _sworn_ , over and over, to a bitter, disillusioned public, that you are going to _protect_." Simon's eyes widen, a false innocence sliding across his face. "Shall I bring this information to the press, Chief Prosecutor? Shall I let them know that the man they have come to respect and trust despite his history—despite who _raised_ and _taught_ him—is no better than his mentor?"

Edgeworth is on his feet before he thinks about moving, one hand reaching for Simon's collar. He forces himself to stop immediately, horrified at the action—horrified at the _reaction_ , at how easily Simon slipped inside his defenses and said exactly what was needed to goad him into action.

Leaning forward, his fists planting themselves on Edgeworth's desk, Simon stares into Edgeworth's eyes. "You saved my life, Edgeworth-dono. I _owe_ you and Wright and Cykes and Justice, a situation I am acutely aware of, believe me. But I will not sacrifice my honor. I will not turn my back on an injustice. Either explain what is going on, or watch me tear us both apart getting to the truth."

Inhaling slowly, Edgeworth meets Blackquill's sharp gaze. "Sometimes truths are hidden for a reason—a _good_ reason."

Blackquill tilts his head. "An excuse made often by those who wish to maintain power in their own hands."

Edgeworth gives his head a little shake. "There's a reason nuclear weapon passcodes exist. A reason laboratories that work with dangerous diseases have keys and codes. Some things _cannot_ be shared with everyone—not without putting everyone's lives at risk, at least."

A slight tilt of his head, and Blackquill arches one sardonic eyebrow up. "I highly doubt you are hiding something like smallpox from terrorists, though please, continue. I would love to hear how you could possibly manage to connect this to a shooting."

"More easily than you would imagine." Miles mutters out the response, his fingers curling as he considers his options. "Will you give me some time to make a few phone calls? To talk to Ms. Cykes and a few other people before I tell you more?"

Simon straightens a bit. "You do intend to explain yourself, though?"

"Yes." Miles nods, surprised at how calm he feels now the decision has been made. "There are a few people who deserve to know things—yourself, Ms. Faraday, Ms. Byrde, Ms. Skye. And I'm tired of keeping this secret from those who should not be in the dark. But I would be remiss in my duties if I were to make the decision on my own to tell you, so please... give me an hour or two to make some calls. Agreed?"

There is a small frown on Blackquill's face, and Miles can practically see the gears turning in his head as he tries frantically to fit the names together in a way that makes sense.

Good luck to him with that.

Evidently giving up, Blackquill straightens to his full height and gives a slight bow. "In two hours, then."

Miles return the bow. "In two hours."

As Simon turns and heads from the office, Miles settles back in his chair and picks up his phone.

There is no perfect legal code that one can follow to be moral. One must define morality for oneself, to the best of one's ability, and hold tight to that code.

It's far easier to ensure that code is just and fair when you have others to bounce your ideas off, and Miles is going to surround himself with as many checks and balances as he possibly can, in the hopes they can all make it through the next few months with souls and sanities intact.

XXX

Sebastian prowls through Klavier's backyard, acutely aware of eyes on his boiling skin.

He's on fire.

He knows that it's not true. Klavier has told him repeatedly that it's not true—that it's the transformation taking hold, that it's going to be worse for Sebastian than the others because of when he was bitten, that Sebastian should try to think of it as lightning rather than fire.

Lightning is related to fire, though. Lightning is quite possibly _how_ fire was given to people, and is still a source of wildfires when it's not human negligence destroying the environment. Whether it's lightning or fire, it _burns_ , and the only thing more intolerable than pacing out here while he burns is sitting inside the house.

The others are only trying to help. Athena's touch can still bring a bit of relief, though her own face has become drawn, her eyes distant as the day crawls forward, bringing moonrise closer and closer. Gumshoe has tried to help in his own way, saying that Sebastian will make a fine wolf, but his touch on Sebastian's shoulder had been too painful, his earnest faith impossible to return.

Ema had wanted Sebastian to rate his pain on a scale from one to ten, though she had at least looked a bit sheepish when Sebastian stared back at her.

Apollo... they have a better understanding, now. Sebastian knows that Apollo isn't going to try to hurt him—that Apollo is trying his best to _help_ all of them—but there had been something absolutely untenable about burning while a man who can make him kneel with a wish stands at his side.

And Klavier—Klavier had been the one that Sebastian could tolerate best, but there had been guilt and grief sliding across the bond between them, growing stronger the more Sebastian hurt, and Sebastian had needed space.

Had needed not to be _trapped_ , as he was trapped as a child when his father used fire to punish and control him. He hadn't been thinking very clearly when he stumbled his way to the door. When Apollo's hand fell on his shoulder, he snarled and almost bit the defense attorney before pulling himself up.

 _Please_. Sebastian's voice had been thick in his throat. _I know the yard. I won't leave it. I just—please._

That's all it had taken, and perhaps Sebastian will need to take some time to get to know Apollo in the future. There is a kindness and a _trust_ implicit in Apollo's letting Sebastian come out here that Sebastian appreciates.

It's a trust Sebastian isn't going to let go to waste. He is _going_ to be all right. He is going to make it through the fire, as he has made it through many, many other fires, and he is going to be a—a _werewolf_ , and everything is going to be—

"Sebastian."

Sebastian jumps a good foot in the air, spinning as he does.

Miles Edgeworth stands behind him, looking out of place among the landscaped foliage. He watches Sebastian with a slight frown.

"C-Chief Prosecutor!" Sebastian clears his throat, hoping that his voice will be stronger and clearer when he tries to speak again. "I... didn't expect you."

"I wasn't planning on being here. There have been some... changes, though." Edgeworth's lips twitch in what could _almost_ be a smile. "I've made some decisions about who should know what, and I require Prosecutor Gavin's assistance for a few hours."

"You... oh." Sebastian swallows. "You're going to tell other people? Show them?"

Edgeworth's head inclines in a swift nod. "Ms. Faraday, Ms. Byrde, Ms. Skye—the non-detective one—and Prosecutor Blackquill. They all deserve to know, and it will make all of our lives easier if they do. I was hoping to have Agent Lang be my assistant for the conversation, but he apparently has his hands full still with Pot's pack."

"Kay..." Sebastian perks up a bit. "We'll be able to tell her about all of this?"

Edgeworth nods again. "You'll be able to tell her everything."

A sigh slides out of Sebastian, deep and breathy. "Good. She deserves to know. She's been worried about Klavier, same as me."

"She'll know." Edgeworth takes a step closer. "I hear you're having... difficulties, as the transformation nears."

"I—it..." Sebastian feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and blinks. "It _burns_."

Edgeworth closes his eyes, his chest expanding with a deep inhalation. "I'm sorry, Sebastian."

Sebastian blinks again, this time in surprise. "Sorry... for what?"

"Sorry I didn't tell you. Sorry you're going through this." Edgeworth's left hand crosses his chest, gripping his right arm hard. His voice drops to a whisper. "Sorry that some scars never fully heal."

"They don't." Sebastian's fingers curl, the old familiar scars on his hands tugging tight.

"But even if they never heal..." Edgeworth's eyes find Sebastian's, meet them evenly. "They can still be put aside. The nightmares stop controlling you, eventually. I know... well, I've _heard_ that it's a... trying experience, transforming. But you've been doing very well for years now, Sebastian, and you have many people on your side."

The tears begin trickling over his eyelids, and Sebastian doesn't even try to blink them away. "I know. It—it does _help_ , having Klavier here, and the pack bonds. And Athena. And knowing—knowing others have done it. But it still..."

"It still burns." The words are simple, deceptively quiet.

Edgeworth's eyes never leave Sebastian's as he moves forward—slowly, carefully, every motion projected in advance—and holds out his right hand to Sebastian.

Sebastian's own hand moves almost of its own volition, his fingers clasping loosely at Edgeworth's. When Edgeworth gives a gentle tug on his hand, Sebastian allows himself to be drawn forward, until his head is resting against Edgeworth's shoulder.

As Sebastian had been hugging Klavier, days that feel like years ago, and he stiffens.

"You won't hurt me." Edgeworth's voice is still calm and confident, quiet enough to not hurt Sebastian's too-sensitive ears. "You are not your father, no matter what bloodlines you may or may not have inherited from him. And this is a safe place—I've made sure of it. You will make it through this, Sebastian. You will find your balance, and you and Klavier will continue to be two of my best hunters. My _Krieger_ , spreading justice through our city whether it wants it or not."

Sebastian's tears come harder, and he allows his body to lean heavily against Edgeworth as sobs steal his breath for a few minutes.

When Sebastian is done crying, Edgeworth steps away, straightening his suit jacket as he studies Sebastian. "Will you be all right?"

Doing a quick self inventory, Sebastian finds that his skin is still on fire, his joints still protesting every movement. But his _thoughts_ , his _emotions_ , the core of who he is, are calmer and cleaner than they have felt all day. "I'm going to make it through this, sir. I'm going to be fine."

A tiny ghost of a smile touches Edgeworth's lips as he inclines his head. "I'll hold you to that, then. And I'll see you this evening."

"Oh." Sebastian's head jerks up, even his hair seeming to straighten at the unexpected news. "You're going to be here for our transformation?"

"I am your parole officer, of a sort." Edgeworth shrugs. "And far be it from me to leave Wright alone to handle anything important. I will be here. Unless you'd prefer I wasn't...?"

Sebastian shakes his head, falling in at Edgeworth's side as Edgeworth makes his way back to the porch. "I'd like you to be here, if you think it would be safe."

"I think it would be as safe as anything in our lives ever is." Edgeworth sighs. "I wouldn't allow Trucy to be present if it wasn't."

"I'll see you tonight, then." They've reached the stairs, and Sebastian climbs them after Edgeworth, not surprised to find Klavier waiting at the top, leaning against the railing. (He can smell Justice, too, and Klavier's scent criss-crosses the porch, old and new trails. Both full wolves have been wandering between their four soon-to-be wolves all morning, helping where they can.)

Klavier reaches out a hand, tentative, uncertain.

Sebastian takes the offer, pulling Klavier into a tight embrace. Perhaps, with certain people at least, Sebastian will come to get used to how much he likes being physical now.

"I'll be gone for a little bit." Klavier's voice is soft, soothing, his worry and affection shining along their bond again. "But if you need me—"

"I know your number." Sebastian nuzzles against Klavier's shoulder, a brief, unconscious motion that causes a blush to rise to his cheeks once he realizes he's doing it. "I've known it for a while. I'll call if I need you."

"And Apollo is here, and Ema and Gumshoe and Athena." Klavier's hand runs through Sebastian's hair. "And in a few more hours the worst will be over. I promise, it is _beautiful_ on the other side."

"It's... not all that bad here, depending on how you look at it." Sebastian takes a step back, squeezing Klavier's hands once. "Good luck with Kay. She's probably going to be kind of upset at you."

"Probably." Klavier smiles. "I will be sure to plead my case as carefully as possible. Take care until I'm back."

Sebastian nods, moving to the porch rail and settling down on the deck in the sunlight. Though the light hurts his eyes, the feel of the sun on his skin makes the fire burning through his body not _quite_ so obvious.

He hears the back door open and close, Edgeworth and Klavier's footsteps walking away, but for the moment, at least, Sebastian thinks he's going to be all right.

XXX

Ema's hand shakes as she attempts to make entries in her notebook. How is it that the code's supposed to go again? Is she transposing by three or four? Where was she in her reporting?

Even the little joints in her fingers ache, a throbbing, pulsing pain that's been rising all day. Athena's touch doesn't drive the pain away anymore, though being close to her—being close to _any_ of the pack—makes things slightly better.

She needs to record that.

She needs to _focus_.

"Ema...?" Apollo stands a few paces away, watching her with wary, compassionate eyes. "How're you doing?"

Ema sighs, putting her notebook aside, the pen sitting askew among the pages. Probably she should fix that, so there aren't ink-stains left on any of her notes, but right now she doesn't really care. Reaching out with her left hand, she snags Apollo by the wrist and pulls him down onto the couch next to her. " _Don't_ start singing. If you do I might just bite you."

"I... wasn't intending to." Apollo sits rigid and awkward next to her for a moment, but once she rests her shoulder against his side he relaxes, slinging an arm across her back. "That bad, huh?"

"Definitely that bad. I don't like his songs at the best of times; when he's ad-libbing and interrupting me it's infinitely worse."

A smile rises on Apollo's face. "I didn't mean Klavier's singing."

"I know." Ema sighs again. "I just feel _stupid_ , that it's affecting me this badly. I mean, Sebastian's got a couple excuses—he's got one hell of a traumatic past, and he's only had a few days to assimilate. What's _my_ body's excuse?"

Apollo shrugs. "Athena would probably say that every body's different. I'd say... this is never a really _fun_ part of the process. Remember how sick I was at the crime scene when I was first transforming? Plus you're... well, you're very Sun. So I imagine becoming very Moon is kind of hard?"

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Ema tries to laugh, though the effort causes pain to blossom behind her eyes. "I'm really glad we got today off. I would not be very good to be around right now."

"I don't know." Apollo's smile grows. "You seem pretty much the same as always to me."

Ema narrows her eyes. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"N-nothing!" Apollo makes the hasty correction, his voice louder than it had been.

Wincing, Ema rubs at her ears. She's pretty certain Apollo's not _actually_ shouting—not any more than his usual conversational volume, at least—but it _feels_ like he is, every sound grating against her ears.

"You're going to be fine." Apollo bites down on his bottom lip. "I _promise_. I mean... you're doing better than either Klavier or I were at this point, at least."

"That's good." Ema sighs, sitting up straight and pulling herself away from Apollo, though it makes the grating, aching sensation in all her joints flare up again. "I'm gonna try to take a few more notes before I lose all fine motor control, all right?"

"All right." Apollo stands, his gaze staying on her as he moves towards the hallway with the guest bedrooms. "Though if you need me... if you need anything from any of us..."

"Got it." Ema pulls her notebook back into her lap, hoping she'll be able to record enough to actually be useful in the future.

Because there _will_ be a future. She doesn't need Apollo's reassurance to tell her that—though it does make her feel better, at least a little bit, and Ema smiles as starts another entry, determined to understand exactly what the Moon bloodline is and what it can do.

XXX

Gumshoe sets Athena down gently on one of Klavier's guest beds, and Athena considers trying to say thanks but decides against it. Not until her stomach's settled down a little bit, at least.

He doesn't say anything, just sitting down on the bed next to her, reaching out to rub between her shoulder blades. A barely-audible creak of floorboards tells Athena that Trucy has also followed them into the room, and she cracks one eye open to watch the girl's progress towards the bed.

Trucy doesn't talk, either. She doesn't even settle down on the bed, staying a pace away, her hands twining together in one of the most obvious signs of distress Athena has ever seen.

Gumshoe continues to rub at her back, and after a minute Athena is able to sit up. She doesn't move away from the detective—it's comforting, being near him. More comforting than it ever would have been before, but this is something Athena's certain she'll get used to.

"Are you..." Trucy speaks so quietly Athena doubts anyone else would have been able to hear. "You're all right?"

Athena considers nodding, rubs at her temple, and realizes that moving her head is a terrible idea. "I'm fine. Just... adapting. Sorry. Ears..."

Trucy leans towards her, watching her lips closely; Gumshoe nods, and Athena wonders if his ears are becoming more sensitive, too.

Sighing, Athena massages at her neck until it feels a _little_ less likely that her head is going to fall off her shoulders. "Are you guys all right?"

Trucy's usual bright smile returns. "Of course! I mean, of course. And still looking forward to when I get to do this."

Athena smiles. "Not to this part, I don't hope."

"Of course not. I'm not a masochist. At least not _this_ much of one." Trucy's hands move behind her back, and she leans towards them again. "What happened?"

"Just... a little sensory overload." Athena can feel her cheeks heat. It hadn't been a very loud noise that Trucy made, just a forceful clap of her hands during one of her tricks, but it had been enough to send Athena over the edge.

"Been a while!" Widget chirps out the addendum. "Really sucks."

That's a good synopsis of the day, actually. Yesterday had been surprisingly normal, but as the nights of the full moon come closer Athena's _everything_ has become more sensitive, from her ears to her skin.

"Do you want anything?" Trucy bounces up onto the balls of her feet. "Can I get you something? Water, or—"

Athena smiles. "Water would be great."

Trucy disappears _almost_ as quickly as she would have during one of her magic tricks, presumably heading towards the kitchen on near-silent feet. It hadn't taken Trucy long to become comfortable with Klavier's house, and she moves through it now as though it were her own.

Gumshoe continues to sit quietly, acting as Athena's prop. Resting back against him, Athena bites down on her bottom lip. "Thanks. For handling that so well."

The big man smiles, stroking a hand over her hair. "No problem. Glad I could help."

"You really did." Athena turns so that she's facing Gumshoe. "How'd you know what to do?"

Shrugging, Gumshoe raises one hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Well, y'know... it's not the first time I've had to deal with something like this. When someone's havin' a flashback or panic attack, makin' sure they're somewhere safe and quiet and without a whole lot o' input can really help."

"Depending on the person, it can." Athena itches to ask who he's helped before, but it's far too personal a question, driven more by curiosity than any valid need for information.

"Plus you're pretty small." Gumshoe pats her on the head again. "Easy enough to carry."

From anyone else, the pat and the comment about her size would feel like she were being called a child. From Gumshoe... well, it's clear there's no ill will in his voice, that he really means _physically_ small rather than incapable.

"Still, it's really nice. Especially when you've got to be hurting, too." Athena frowns, listening for and not finding any dissonance in the detective's voice.

Gumshoe shrugs. "I'm... a little uncomfortable, yeah. But, well, that's what it's _supposed_ to be like. And really, helpin' someone like this... I'm glad when I can be useful."

He means it, sincerity running like a glimmering backbone through all the words.

Athena smiles, butting her head against Gumshoe's shoulder. Her cheeks burn bright a moment later.

"Wolfie!" Widget glows green as he makes the proclamation.

Athena smacks her hand over the robot.

Gumshoe laughs, a sound full only of humor and tinkling good cheer. "Yeah, that was definitely a wolf move. Today's gonna be interestin'."

"Truer words were never spoken." Athena returns Gumshoe's smile.

Trucy appears in the doorway, a glass of water in her hand and Apollo hovering right behind her.

Holding out her hand for the water, Athena smiles at Apollo. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Apollo settles down on the bed on the opposite side of Athena, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Everything all right?"

Athena nods, her head feeling better, somehow. "We're good now. Sorry if I worried you."

Apollo shrugs. "Sorry I can't be everywhere at once?"

"That would be an absolutely horrifying ability for you to have, Justice." Transferring her head to Apollo's shoulder, Athena gives a little snort. "Can you imagine him being able to copy himself, Trucy?"

"The world would never be the same again." Trucy grins, teasing grace notes dangling off each word as she studies Apollo.

"Damn right." Apollo returns the smile. "It would actually _function_."

"For certain definitions of that word." Athena closes her eyes. "This is nice."

"Yeah, it is." Apollo's chin rubs against her hair.

Gumshoe's hand rubs between her shoulder blades. "I'm gonna go check on Ema and Sebastian. Take as much time as you need to get yourself comfortable again."

As soon as Gumshoe leaves, Trucy hops up on the bed, taking his place. Her head settles against Athena's shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Mm-hm." Athena sighs in contentment, managing to push away the aches of her body in the joy of the present company. "It definitely will be."

Apollo doesn't say anything, but she can feel his stubborn, unflinching certainty, an anchor around which their fluctuating pack bonds can flow, and that's all the reassurance he needs to give.

XXX

Edgeworth studies the four people sitting in chairs in front of his desk, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Lana had taken tea with calm politeness, as though this were a decade ago. Maggey had accepted a mug, too, and Miles had been careful when heating and portioning out the water, not wanting to have to deal with third degree burns or some such. Blackquill had demured, settling in his chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest, Taka perched easily on his shoulder. Kay had asked if there was hot chocolate or cider instead, and then declined a drink, as well, stating pointedly that she'd much rather know what he was keeping from her.

The solid weight of a canine head settles in his lap, and Edgeworth straightens abruptly, trying not to spill his drink. Perhaps he should have waited until tomorrow, so he could bring Gumshoe rather than the wolf that seems to think singing and being as close as physically possible to everyone are top priorities.

Kay leans back in her chair, crossing her legs at the ankle and arching an eyebrow. "Everything okay there?"

"Certainly." Edgeworth sets his tea down. Best not to risk it being spilled all over his desk. "I'm sure you're all curious why I called you here. Before I can tell you, I have to swear you to confidence. The information I'm about to divulge is critical to the lives of people that you are all attached to, and should be kept secret until such time as they believe others need to know."

Maggey is sitting in the center, and she looks from Kay to Simon on the ends before glancing at Lana sitting next to her, clearly expecting one of them to raise an objection. When no one else does, she shoves her hair behind her ears and squares her shoulders. "Is this information about a case people are working on? Or is it... it's not something illegal, right?"

"That depends on one's definitions." Opening his hands palms-up, Miles shrugs. "There is nothing inherently illegal about the information, or about keeping it secret. But knowing may lead you to be embroiled in situations where there is no easy ethical answer, and certainly no easy ethical _and_ legal answer."

Lana's eyebrows both rise, but she doesn't say anything, merely taking a sip of her tea.

"Legality isn't all that important in the end." Kay leans forward in her chair. "It's our people—Gummy, I'm guessing, since Maggey is here; Ema, since Lana's here; and Klavier and Sebastian too for me, and... hm, probably the Cykes girl for tall, dark, and glowering over there? Though he also seemed to be getting decently close to Sebastian and Klavier."

Simon twitches a little bit—just the faintest tick of his left eye, but it's clear evidence of surprise, and Miles has to suppress a smile. His Kay is many things, but unobservant isn't one of them.

Reaching up to stroke Taka's chest feathers, Blackquill buries the evidence of surprise beneath bland boredom. "You cannot ask us to make an oath of secrecy before telling us what we will be agreeing to."

"I _could_ , but you're right, it wouldn't be fair." Miles reaches for his tea cup, hears a restless shift of claws against the wooden floor of his office, and remembers why he doesn't currently have it in hand. "I just wish you to be aware that if you are not careful with this information, you could bring great harm to people that are close to you, as well as countless others who have done injury to no one. I wish you to make informed decisions."

"You're stalling." Blackquill's mouth turns up into a sneer. "You're afraid, and hoping we'll stop asking difficult questions."

"Never." Meeting Blackquill's eyes evenly, Miles waits for the younger man to blink or turn away. It takes longer than he had expected, but eventually Blackquill does. "If people don't ask difficult questions, things are missed. Injustices are allowed to propagate. But questions have consequences; answers have consequences; and I want to be sure you are all comfortable with that fact before we move forward. If any of you feel you would like to step out, now is the time to do so. Whether you decide you don't wish to know what's happening period, or simply want some time to consider you options, I will think no less of you for it."

Edgeworth waits, giving them time enough to consider their options. None of them move. Edgeworth hadn't really expected them to. Blackquill and Kay both _need_ to know, the desire for truth—for understanding and control of a situation—central to their identities. Maggey, though less driven to seek knowledge and understanding for its own sake, is very attached to Gumshoe, and will want to understand what's going on.

After a minute has ticked past in silence, Edgeworth pushes back his chair, giving the wolf huddled under his desk enough room to slip out. "Gitarre, if you would be so kind..."

The blond wolf trots out from under the desk, a pair of black sweatpants dangling from his jaws. He sets the pants down on the floor in front of him and then sits at attention right in front of Edgeworth's desk, his eyes moving from Blackquill to Maggey to Kay to Lana in quick succession.

Then he turns to Edgeworth, blue eyes bright and questioning, holding an intelligence that is kin to but not quite like the human prosecutor whose eyes they look so much like. Edgeworth waves his right hand. "When you're ready. A demonstration is probably worth a thousand words."

Blackquill and Maggey are watching the wolf in open confusion; Kay is also watching the wolf, sitting up ramrod straight in her chair, but it isn't confusion that Edgeworth sees in her eyes.

The wolf's head turns back towards the gathered people, and he very deliberately stretches his front legs out in front of him. As he moves a patch of scarred skin surrounded by dull grey fur on the wolf's left flank catches Miles' attention, though he tries not to stare.

Though Navon had told Klavier not to transform unless it was absolutely necessary, Klavier had insisted he was recovered enough to handle it, and Miles trusts the other man to know his own limits—or at least know how much him being hurt will destabilize the pack, a dangerous thing at this critical juncture.

The transformation seems to take longer than normal to Miles' untrained eye, more of a stuttering jolt between intermediate forms than the usual smooth flow from wolf to human, but it takes only a minute or two. A minute during which Taka shifts uneasily on Blackquill's shoulder, small noises escaping the hawk every few seconds as it watches the change. Simon and Maggey stare, staying completely still and quiet throughout the transformation. The teacup falls from Maggey's fingers to clatter onto the floor. Miles winces, glad that he chose one likely to survive the fall for her.

Change complete, Klavier braces himself against the floor with one hand, using the other to push sweat-dampened hair away from his eyes so he can study his audience. "Impressive, _ja_?"

"I—you—" Maggey points at Klavier, sputtering incoherent syllables.

Simon apparently decides that staying silent is better than embarrassing himself by flailing about, though his eyes narrow as he studies the area around Klavier, clearly looking for some way it could be a trick.

"You went and became _Moon_!" Kay jumps to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. " _That's_ what's been going on. I should have seen it earlier. Why didn't you _tell_ me, you ridiculous—"

Klavier looks from Kay to Edgeworth, clearly not having expected a reaction like that.

Miles stares openly at Kay. "You _know_ about the bloodlines?"

Flicking her fingers out, Kay rolls her eyes. "Of _course_ I know. I _have_ one, silly."

"I..." Klavier closes his mouth, giving his head a little shake. "I'm going to put my pants on, and then we can sort this out."

"A good idea, Gavin-dono." Simon is once more stroking Taka's chest, his hand moving swiftly—clearly getting comfort from the bird's proximity. "I feel this demonstration has raised more questions than it has provided answers."

"Prosecutor Gavin has become what would colloquially be called a werewolf." Perhaps if he keeps saying the words they will become less ridiculous. Edgeworth keeps his eyes on Kay as he speaks, and somehow her lack of surprise is, in itself, the most surprising thing to happen today. "The werewolves themselves say that they're of the Moon bloodline—Moon as in the tarot-card meaning of moon, if you're familiar with that."

"He's... but..." Maggey is staring at Klavier, who turns back around, sweatpants barely hanging off his hips, and smiles at her. "What... does this have to do with us?"

"My sister cannot be a werewolf." Lana stares openly at Klavier.

"Ema chose this. She will be a beauitful wolf." Klavier's eyes flick to Kay, though when she crosses her arms in front of her chest and glowers at him his gaze moves to Maggey. "This has to do with the four of you because all of you have people close to you who will also be Moon soon. It's a very long story, but basically Apollo Justice and myself were accidentally turned into werewolves at the last full moon. In order to not get into trouble, we needed a third member for our pack."

"Gumshoe...?" Maggey's eyes flick from Klavier to Edgeworth, her voice full of hesitant questioning.

"He'd make a great third for someone's pack." Kay is still watching Klavier with a tense expression. "Especially if both the other members of the pack are new to being werewolves."

Edgeworth turns his attention fully to Kay, his brow wrinkling. "Why do you say that?"

Kay shrugs. "'Cause he was born Moon, right?"

Klavier shakes his head. "No, he wasn't. He hasn't actually transformed yet. Tonight is his first full moon—he and... several others."

Maggey opens her mouth to speak again, but Simon speaks over her, his voice low and threatening. "Why all the secrecy around it?"

Edgeworth answers before Klavier can, recognizing a hint of anger in the set of Klavier's shoulders. The last thing he needs is an _angry_ werewolf in his office right now. "They're sworn to secrecy. It's one of the few rules their kind have. Telling you this—showing you—is something Gavin and the others would get into trouble for. Which is why, should it come out that you were told before I had permission to do so, _I_ will take the blame."

"But why hide?" Apparently being interrupted by Blackquill has helped snap Maggey into the moment, and she frowns as she asks the question. "Is it—are _you_ —dangerous?"

" _Ja._ " Klavier smiles, a show of teeth that fades into his usual rock-star grin as he poses with his bad hip up on Miles' desk corner. "I am very dangerous, can't you see?"

Edgeworth resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Gavin is exactly as dangerous as he used to be. When they are in wolf form, they can be a bit more... well, a frightened or injured dog is prone to biting. But the werewolves in general have not unreasonable fears about what will happen if their abilities become known. Especially because it's quite easy to transfer the... skill, as it were."

Klavier nods. "Apollo was bitten during the courtroom explosion. He bit me in the midst of a transformation, before he even knew what was happening."

Kay holds up one finger on both hands. "Can we go back a minute? You said that Gummy _wasn't_ a Moon before?"

Klavier turns to face Kay. "I swear, until the ceremony three weeks ago, he was as human as you are."

"Huh." Kay crosses her arms in front of her chest. "That's not saying much, because none of the bloodlines are really inhuman per se and I'm actually Hierophant bloodline, but I get what you're driving at."

"I, however, am still in the dark." Blackquill's voice rumbles out again. "Let us start at the beginning, and you can explain exactly what has happened and what it portends for the good detective and Ms. Cykes."

"All right." Klavier glances down at his hands. "Are the four of you going to keep the secret?"

"If there's no reason to tell..." Maggey shrugs. "We'd be kind of terrible to risk your lives for no good reason."

Lana holds her tea cup tight. "I've kept far more dangerous secrets for far less altruistic reasons."

Blackquill gives a little snort of disdain. "If you trust me so little, at least trust that I will do nothing to bring harm to my liege."

Kay flops back down in her seat. "I'm still confused about Gummy not being a Moon-moon, but I'd like to hear what's been going on. Also, for the record, since I have another bloodline, you could have _told me_ from the start and maybe made things a little easier on all of us."

"I wasn't aware you had another bloodline, Kay." Klavier's voice is rough, more of the wolf in it than Edgeworth is comfortable with, but he stays poised in apparent serenity on the edge of Edgeworth's desk. "But, just for the record, my pack after tonight will consist of myself, Apollo Justice, Athena Cykes, Dick Gumshoe, Ema Skye, and Sebastian DeBeste."

Kay's lips flatten out, her hands tightening into fists, but she stays silent.

Klavier runs his tongue over his lips, watching Kay. "And this is how we came to be a pack..."

XXX

Ema is curled into a ball on the ground, considering whether it would hurt her ears too much if she were to groan.

How long is it until the full moon? An hour? Two at most? She should be recording more. She should be asking the others how they're doing. She should be making sure that Sebastian's all right, because he's the one who should, technically, be having the hardest time.

She can't think. She can't move without agony. She can't record her research, and—

"Aw, Ema." Big arms wrap around her, tugging her into a semi-seated position against a warm, solid body. She doesn't dare open her eyes, afraid that if she does the added pain will cause her stomach to rebel, but she doesn't need to.

Gumshoe's smell is familiar. He has been a staple at the precinct for as long as Ema can remember, teaching new recruits with enthusiasm and zeal. He has been at Edgeworth's side for almost as long, and that means he has been in and out of Ema's life, even before they began working together.

He doesn't say anything else. He just starts humming, a simple, repetitive melody in a low, quiet voice. If it were Gavin doing it, Ema would have to at least feign being upset; because it's Gumshoe...

She feels better after a few minutes, exhaling a breath and cracking her left eye open experimentally.

Apparently noticing the change in body tension, Gumshoe stops humming, smiling down at her encouragingly. "Feel better?"

Ema sighs. "If feeling better means still feeling like I got run over by a taxi, sure."

"Taxi's better than a bus, right?" Gumshoe pats her shoulder gently.

"Right." Ema gives a breathless laugh. "Good way of looking at it." Putting a hand on his shoulder, she tries to lever herself to her feet, not quite succeeding.

Gumshoe catches her when she falls. "Did you need t' go somewhere?"

Ema starts to nod, thinks better of it, and instead points towards the table with her notebooks. "Have to keep making notes."

"Well..." Gumshoe scratches at his cheek. "If you want to, you certainly can. But if you don't mind my sayin'..."

Ema pinches at the bridge of her nose. "Say away."

A hand pats gently at her head. "It might be better if you let it go for the moment. I think it's makin' it hurt more for you, all this focusin' on your recording."

"But..." Ema's hands clench into fists. "The whole point in becoming a werewolf was to be able to record and study it."

"Which you _are_." Gumshoe nods towards the notebooks. "More'n I'd say most werewolves have. But sometimes... sometimes it's better t' just _experience_ somethin', you know, and then try to put words to it later?"

Ema looks towards her records for long, long seconds and then relaxes back against Gumshoe with a groan. "Experience first, interpret later?"

Gumshoe mouths the words after her, thinks for a moment, and gives a nod and a smile. "Just let yourself _be_ for a little bit, Ema. Maybe then what you're becomin' won't be quite so... hard."

"Hmph." Ema rests her head against Gumshoe's shoulder. It probably should feel awkward, but right now it just seems to make her ache less, and anything that does that is worth repeating. " _You_ don't seem to be having too much trouble. I should record that..."

"It hurts a bit." Gumshoe stands, lifting her in his arms with seeming ease and taking them both to the couch. "Actually... a lot a bit, sometimes. But the more I try t' help you guys, the less I seem to notice it hurting. Plus... well... it seems like the kind of thing that _should_ hurt a little bit, y'know? But not _that_ much, so..."

Ema rubs her face against the rough fabric of Gumshoe's shirt, realizing belatedly that the move isn't _entirely_ something a person should do. She should write that down. Except... she's not supposed to be writing things down right now.

She should make a mental note and try to remember to record it tomorrow, she decides.

"There we go." Gumshoe beams proudly, as though Ema has just determined how to send rockets into space instead of figuring out that waiting until tomorrow to do things won't mean the end of the world. "We're goin' to be the _best_ pups."

Ema laughs, and though her head—her whole _body—_ still hurts, it somehow hurts _less_ than it did before as the honest mirth rings out. "You already are, I think. And thanks. For helping with this."

Gumshoe smiles back at her, lowering his head so he can bonk his forehead against her shoulder. "That's what pack's for, right?"

"Yeah." Ema considers moving, just for a few seconds, and then decides it's not worth it. Tomorrow, when she's made it through the transformation and everything's better. For now... "This is _exactly_ what pack's for."

XXX

Athena rests her head in Apollo's lap. The lights in the room are down, and despite both Trucy and Apollo being present, there's very little noise—only the occasional soft, canine sound of reassurance from Apollo, and somehow that doesn't hurt as much as human words do.

There's a creak as the bedroom door opens, and Athena hears the distinctive sound of Mr. Wright's footsteps approaching the bed. He hesitates next to it, a moment of almost-silence.

Then Trucy moves, sliding back on the bed, giving her father room to sit down, and Athena finds herself being moved, her head transferred to a different lap.

Forcing her eyes open, Athena squints up at her boss.

He smiles down at her, one hand touching her hair gently, as though she might break.

"I'm..." Athena winces at the way her voice cracks. "Fine."

"Of course you are." Phoenix's words are dry, an agreement that isn't really, but the sound of his voice is comforting and familiar. How long has it been now since she first heard this voice—heard it wrapped in pain and misery, but still with that core of strength and compassion that made her actually _listen_ to the strange man in the ragged clothes that had seen better days?

"You're not..." Athena has to pause, to give herself a few breaths as the words and all they contain beat against her ears. "Worried? Being here?"

"Trucy's going to be here." The glance that Phoenix casts towards his daughter speaks volumes. "And even if she wasn't... I trust you. All of you. You say you've got this under control, that it's just taking you a little while to get used to the hearing, I believe you."

" _Bien_." Athena forces a smile. "Because it's true."

Phoenix doesn't argue with her, though Athena can still hear a note of uncertainty tinging his voice when he changes the subject. "Gavin's going to be here soon. Edgeworth's driving him back—apparently Gavin's not quite steady enough to drive that ridiculous motorcycle of his. The other three are gathered in the living room. Moonrise is supposed to be in twenty-three minutes."

Apollo's hand rubs gently at her shoulder, and Athena turns to smile more honestly at him. "We should probably join them then, huh?"

"If you're up to it." Apollo's hand tightens on her shoulder.

"Just... make sure I don't walk into any walls, okay?" Athena draws and holds a deep breath as she forces herself to her feet. "And maybe... warn the others to try to be quiet?"

Trucy is out the door before either of the men can move, and Athena can hear her whispering to the other wolves about what the plan is.

Less than a half hour. Her skin tingles, her blood seeming to roar in her ears as she leans on Apollo, letting him guide her towards the rest of the pack.

Then they'll all be proper werewolves, and able to turn their attention to more important tasks.

XXX

Klavier doesn't wait for Edgeworth to park the car, tumbling out as soon as they're relatively close to his front door. His hip twinges in protest, but less than it did yesterday, and he needs to be with his people—his _pack_.

They hadn't expected explaining things to take quite so long. _Why_ they hadn't, Klavier can't rightly explain now—the idea of Blackquill not wanting to know every little detail about what's going on with Athena is silly, Maggey had been deeply concerned about Gumshoe, Lana was utterly flabbergasted at the idea of her sister being a werewolf, and even before Kay started in on her grievances about being kept in the dark, trying to explain her own bloodline and how it fit into the mix had eaten up a chunk of the afternoon. By the time Klavier had been dismissed by Edgeworth, the full-moon jitters combined with his sore hip and the increasing certainty he had that the pack _needs_ him had made driving his motorcycle untenable.

So he had slunk back upstairs and muttered out a request for a ride home, which Edgeworth had been kind enough to oblige without question or comment.

The pack is gathered together in the living room, sitting in quiet, tense anticipation. Athena is at the center, but it's clear from the way the others huddle around her that it's to _give_ her comfort rather than to benefit from her gift. Trucy and Wright are nowhere to be seen, though a quick flick of Klavier's eyes into the gray-scale vision of the wolf shows Clay Terran sitting cross-legged on the floor. Clay notices Klavier watching and points towards the kitchen before raising a finger to cover his lips in a shushing gesture. Then he points at Athena, putting both hands over his ears.

Klavier nods, acknowledging the warning, but he doesn't need it. This close to the pack, he can _feel_ them all, an explosion of information. He should probably try to tune some of it out, to summon up the soundboard that Juniper helped him fashion and imagine all the other inputs turning down, but right now...

He greets Apollo first, kicking his shoes off and moving to kneel in front of the man who is their alpha—the man who will protect but not control them, the man that Klavier _trusts_ , as he trusts very few people. Apollo frees his right hand to pull Klavier in close, rubbing his chin against Klavier's cheek—claiming him, welcoming him _home_ , and Klavier is smiling as he turns to the rest of the pack.

Ema is huddled between Apollo and Gumshoe, her mouth tight and white with pain. Her body _burns_ , an echo of the agony that Klavier lived through a month ago, and he reaches out tentatively to touch her shoulder. She raises her left hand to clutch his outstretched fingers, offering him a brief, grimacing smile as she does.

She is fighting it. She doesn't _mean_ to, he doesn't think. She wants to learn, to _understand_ , as the notebooks piled on the table indicate. But the Moon is not about understanding, not about _reality_ , even. It's about _being_ , about the fantastical and the extreme.

And Ema can appreciate those, too. He _knows_ she can, or Athena wouldn't have been able to make her feel better earlier. Lifting her hand to his cheek, Klavier rubs against it. " _Live_ first, _fraulein_. _Exist_."

Ema rolls her eyes, her voice a whisper to match his. "I _know_."

"Being the wolf..." Klavier tries to think of the proper words. "It is _immediate_ , in the moment. And it can be amazing—the most _lebensbejahend_ moment you have ever had—if you let it."

"Throw German in..." Ema huffs out something that is almost a laugh. "And I might hit you."

Closing his eyes, Klavier smiles and hums out a barely-audible melody, focusing down just on his bond to Ema. She does understand what he's saying, he realizes, is doing everything she can to accept it, and she will be fine once the moon rises.

Gumshoe is next, and Klavier maneuvers until he can throw both arms around the detective and hold him tight for a moment. The transformation burns in him, too, but not so painfully as in the others, and there will be no trouble here, Klavier doesn't think. Gumshoe will be a source of support for the others, a center around which they can lean, and Klavier finds affection for the detective welling up in almost overwhelming waves.

These people are his _pack_. They will depend on him, and he will depend on them, and they will keep each other _safe_.

As much as they can, at least, and Klavier tries to close the pack-bonds down a bit as he turns to Sebastian. Sebastian had been leaning against Gumshoe, but he has pulled away now, sitting straight and stubborn, his breath hissing in and out in pained pants.

He _burns_ , so much, and Klavier reaches out to hug him before his human mind thinks better of it, needing to comfort and reassure.

Instead of pulling away as he would have three days ago, Sebastian melts into Klavier's hold, tears already starting to trickle down his face.

 _You will be fine_ , Klavier thinks, hoping that the sensations along their bond will be comprehensible. _I survived; you will, too._

"Not... your fault." Sebastian turns his head, teeth nipping briefly at Klavier's neck—not hard enough to draw blood, just hard enough to make his point. "And I'll... be all right."

"You will be." Sometimes words need to be said out loud, and Klavier hugs his friend tight, trying to impress the truth of the statement in words and touch and bond all at once.

Drawing a deep breath, Sebastian holds it, pulling back to smile at Klavier as he does.

Klavier rests their foreheads together for a moment before releasing Sebastian from his embrace, moving to the last member of their pack.

Athena smiles at him, a wan, worn expression, and flashes a peace sign that trembles.

Putting an arm around her, trying hard not to jolt her where she is leaning against Apollo, Klavier breathes in a slow, steady rhythm. Her harsh breaths match up with his after only half a minute, and she relaxes incrementally against him.

Pulling away a bit, Klavier brushes at her hair. "Just a few more minutes."

"I know." Like him, Athena uses just enough air to create sound, and still it causes her ears to ache.

Turning back to Apollo, Klavier rests a hand against his shoulder.

The worst is almost over, and then their pack—their strong, scarred, singular pack—will be complete. This place—their pack together—is _geborgenheit_ , feeling safe and secure in a way no _physical_ space ever can. (There are ghosts haunting them. There are ghosts who want to hurt them— _people_ who want to hurt them, though they have done nothing save exist. That means that no place can be truly safe, but this space _feels_ like it right now.)

Apollo smiles at him and Klavier smiles back, an expression half-canine and half-human, waiting with bated breath for the moon to finish rising.

XXX

Clay had half-forgotten that the wolves would need to undress if they didn't want to destroy their clothing, and he raises his eyes hastily when they begin doing so.

Ema crawls over to Athena, the two women assisting each other as best they can; Klavier gently begins peeling layers off Sebastian; Apollo and Gumshoe both seem fine taking care of themselves. It helps that hair ties, earrings and jewelry had all been removed already, left in glistening piles at various locales in Klavier's house.

Clay doesn't need to see the moon rising to know when it does. Energy has been growing throughout the house all day—a house that Pearl and Maya Fey have protected against malevolent spirits as best they can while still allowing Clay to be here. The energy tingles and prickles against Clay's body, little static bolts of power.

Now it gathers over the whole living room, and Clay's hair stands on end—though whether that's because of the energy or because Clay _expects_ it to in a situation like this, Clay can't rightly say.

The transformation should be ugly. It should be horrific, bones rearranging, skin disappearing under shaggy pelts. It _is_ , in some ways, especially if it's drawn-out.

But it's also beautiful. _Especially_ with the full moon it's beautiful, a constellation of silver-white sparks drifting over the werewolves' bodies, and the looks on their faces, in their eyes, isn't one of agony but of _release_ , of _relief_.

Klavier isn't the one who transforms fastest. Though he _starts_ fastest, the wolf form flowing over him like water, the silver dazzle pauses at his injured, scarred hip, taking on a sickly red glow. It doesn't last for long, and within a half a minute the blond wolf that Klavier has dubbed Gitarre is shaking his ruff out.

Gumshoe has already completed the transformation, a large, panting black wolf raising first one front paw and then the other in evident awe where he had been standing. Gitarre bounces over to the wolf, licking the left side of his muzzle and butting his head against Gumshoe's before dashing to Apollo's side.

Apollo's transformation has completed, and Sol-wolf shakes himself out, tossing his head until the slightly longer fur between his ears stands up like he wants it to. He returns Gitarre's eager greeting with a fond nip at the blond wolf's jaw, and then they are both moving to the sides of other pack members.

Apollo moves to Athena, laying his body next to hers, his tongue flicking out to lick at an ear that shivers between human and canine.

Klavier darts uneasily from Sebastian's side to Ema's, until Gumshoe's dark wolf moves to Ema's side, nosing gently at her arms.

Settling himself over top of Sebastian's whimpering form, Klavier throws back his head and _howls_.

Clay has heard the wolves howl before. It seems to be Gitarre's favorite past-time. There is something _different_ about this, though. The silver sparks glint brighter around all the wolves, the feeling of crackling energy in the room increasing.

Then Apollo howls, too, his voice loud and strong, twisting over Klavier's. Gumshoe begins singing next, his voice a deep, low counterpoint to the other two.

Ema staggers upright on four feet, her wolf form a brown that's just a few shades darker than Apollo's. Her voice joins the song, her feet moving uneasily, as though she's not quite sure what to make of them.

Athena stirs, bright red fur limned in silver sparks as she rolls over on her back. She doesn't actually stand up, just opens her mouth and starts singing, too, her voice adding a counterpoint.

Leaving just Sebastian, and Clay holds his breath—pretends that he _needs_ to breathe, that this is actually _difficult_. Bastion _has_ to be all right. If they've gone through all this only to have him die—

He's not dead, though. He's alive and bewildered and _canine_ , scrabbling around on the ground, clearly not quite certain what to do with all his feet. He looks up at Klavier, who is still singing, and whuffs out a sound that can only be a question.

Clay throws his hands up in the air, letting out a victorious whoop that doesn't quite fit with the wolf song.

Klavier breaks off his singing, dropping down to the ground and helping to nudge Sebastian to his feet.

Apollo comes tearing across the living room, tackling Clay half through a wall in his zeal, his tail wagging in frantic joy.

Athena shakes herself, prancing in place for a moment before darting towards the doorway that separates the living room and the kitchen. Trucy is standing there, Clay realizes belatedly, her father behind her. The young woman immediately bends down, wrapping her arms around Athena's throat and squeezing tight.

The red wolf collapses, mock-dying at the force of the embrace before lunging up to lick Trucy's face. Phoenix's hands both twitch towards Trucy at the sudden motion, but he doesn't actually say anything.

They did it.

"You guys are _fantastic_." Clay buries his hands and his face in Apollo's ruff. "Also fine."

Apollo barks back an answer, his chest puffed out in pride.

They still have a lot they need to do. They have to figure out exactly what's going on with Kristoph and the crazy cult that offered him a body in return for service. They have to protect themselves, and also try to protect others, to make sure whatever's happening doesn't spill out into something more dangerous.

But right now, for an evening, at least, they just have to enjoy each other's company.

To Clay, surrounded by werewolves who can see and touch him, that sounds like the best thing in the whole world.


	16. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** Last little bit! I meant to post this with the last chapter but hadn't finished editing, so it becomes a New Year's treat. I hope people enjoyed the story! As you can probably tell, I do have ideas for a third story, which I'm working on. It will probably be a few months before I have anything ready to publish, but it will probably happen.

 _Epilogue_

Kristoph reaches out to press his hand against the invisible barrier cutting across the driveway that leads to Klavier's house, moving carefully so that he doesn't injure himself.

His brother and his protege are both inside, as are all their fledgling monsters. If Kristoph could just find some way to bypass the barrier the Fey women erected, it may be possible for him to interrupt their little transformation ceremony. The expression on Klavier's face as one of his little victims dies would be—

An inhuman ruckus erupts from Klavier's house, first one and then a symphony of wolves howling out into the night. Kristoph grimaces, taking a step back from the barrier as he realizes that the opportunity has slipped away.

"You have no patience, y'know?"

Kristoph manages not to startle, though the voice behind him was completely unexpected. Turning around, he faces Blaise DeBeste evenly. "I can be very patient. This was a good opportunity."

Blaise snorts. "Maybe it would've been if you hadn't gone and antagonized them multiple times. Moon's at its most vulnerable when it's born, after all. But _someone_ couldn't resist taunting people who would have been better off left alone."

"You're wrong there." Kristoph crosses his arms in front of his chest. "If we leave them be, they'll find a way to ruin everything. It's what they do for a living."

"They interfere because you drag them into it. Because you can't handle not being in control of everything and being the best at everything." Blaise smiles at him, a cruel, hard expression. "Let's just say, son, that you've got the wrong bloodline for both."

Kristoph forces a smile, trying to make it wide and honest-looking. Blaise wants to get a reaction out of him, so that's the last thing Kristoph will show. "I can see why you'd prefer to call _me_ son when compared to the mewling puppy in there."

Blaise's eyes rise, rake across the front of Klavier's house. "Sebastian was—is—a disappointment. But I'm smarter than you, Gavin. I know how to wait for the right moment, and pick my battles."

"I almost succeeded in killing all three of them." Kristoph turns back to the house, too, reaching out once more to feel the still-solid barrier.

"You _did_ succeed in killing none of them, and now they're aware of things they shouldn't be."

" _That_ is not my fault. Who knew the Hermit would say so much, or that the barrier would fail?" Kristoph glares at the older ghost. "I delivered Terran to them—"

"Without warning and without cause, _plus_ you've lost us an important foothold among the Moon." Blaise reaches out, poking a finger at Kristoph's chest. He doesn't actually touch him—they _can't_ touch, insubstantial to each other as well as to most of the world—but the threat is clear.

A threat Kristoph is tired of dealing with, and his right hand begins moving, sketching out one of the sigils he was taught.

Blaise's eyes meet his, and Kristoph feels his whole body freeze, his will fighting with Blaise's... fighting and losing, a terrible, inexorable battle.

Blaise smiles again, a terrible crocodile's smile as he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "Turning against me? Really, Gavin? And here I thought we were getting on so well. Thought of you like my own son, y'know? It would be such a shame to have to twist you to my own devices..."

"You wouldn't... dare." Each word is an effort, spat out through gritted teeth. " _They_ haven't... ordered it."

"I doubt they'd cry about it, either." Blaise shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes moving to the house again, and Kristoph can move freely once more. "Like I said, kid, you lack patience. Most people with ambition do. Do you think people like me, Von Karma, Gant ended up where we are by rushing ahead? You choose what you do carefully. You remember what your skills are. Right now, you're a half-trained half-breed working off the knowledge of people who don't even share his bloodline. Whereas _me_... well." Blaise's teeth show.

"I'll take your advice into consideration." Kristoph straightens his already-impeccable cuffs, trying to keep his voice light, the fury in it hidden. It is harder without a body to control one's emotions, he's found, with the difficulty increasing the longer he's dead.

" _I_ never would've killed myself, no matter how hopeless the situation looked." Blaise's voice is flat now, his eyes hard as he stares at the still-cacophonous house. "Bought me another six years of living."

"I wouldn't call sitting in a prison cell waiting to die while my family gloats _living_." Kristoph smiles. "But to each their own."

"It bought me enough time to be found by our employers." Blaise turns away from the house. "Employers who would like to speak with both of us. Me they want to ply my trade; you... well, we'll see what they have to say about these debacles."

Kristoph grits his teeth, keeping his expression neutral as he follows Blaise away from the house, waiting for the tug that will guide him to where he needs to be—to where the people he can use to earn a new lease on life are waiting.

His brother and Apollo Justice can wait until later.

XXX

Sebastian wakes slowly, his whole body feeling... _good_. He stretches, sunlight turning his closed eyelids blood-red. Did he forget to close the blinds last night? Not that it matters too much, but—

His bare hand slides across someone's skin, and Sebastian sits up abruptly. He's on a hardwood floor, not a bed, so hopefully he hasn't somehow ended up dating someone and forgetting it, but...

The panicked breath that he draws to start asking for explanations freezes in his throat, scent pulling up memories before he can make a fool of himself. The reason he's naked on the floor, surrounded by _other_ naked people, is really very simple. He's a werewolf, and this is his pack.

Looking down at his scarred hands, Sebastian flexes them. He's a _werewolf_. He has flashes of memory from last night—wrestling, playing, skidding on the smooth floors, chasing a ghost who could have been a friend in another life.

" _Guten Morgen_ , all." Klavier's voice is sleepy, languid and relaxed.

It brings Sebastian's head up, and he realizes that everyone else seems to be waking, as well. Ema is practically vibrating in place, a grin on her face as she stares between the pack and her notebooks. Athena has one hand to her ear—she and Klavier will have to figure out some way to deal with their earrings, since apparently the transformation closes the holes. Or perhaps Klavier already has a way to deal with it? He's been a werewolf for a whole month, after all.

"We made it." Ema's eyes rake over their group—Apollo at the center, Klavier draped over him; Sebastian next to Apollo; Athena next to Ema; Gumshoe yawning sleepily next to Sebastian. "We all made it!"

Gumshoe smiles as he sits up. "Never any doubt in my mind that we would."

"Oh, man." Ema lifts a hand to touch her nose and then her eyelids. "This feels... really strange."

"It'll come and go with the moon." Apollo heaves himself up into a sitting position, forcing Klavier to sit up or get smacked in the face. "You'll feel pretty much like yourself at the new moon. Assuming you don't also have a hidden bloodline."

Ema's eyes rake over the pack. "Give the proportion of double-bloodlines already in our pack... statistically it's very unlikely, unless we're actually granting narrative weight a statistical significance. Which I don't think we have a reason to do, yet. But maybe in the future..." Ema laughs, a pleased, breathless little sound. "I never could have imagined all this a month ago. And I'm so, so glad to know that it's true now."

"I told you it was beautiful on the other side." Klavier runs a hand through his hair, though it's rather hopelessly tangled. He smiles at Sebastian as he does, the expression tentative, and Sebastian feels something... _tugging_ at his emotions. It's a gentle feel, almost like a hand ghosted across his hair.

Klavier is trying to see how he's feeling, manipulating their pack-bonds to get better access. Arranging his knees in front of his chest, his arms tucked in so that his scarred hands are mostly hidden, Sebastian offers his friend a smile. "You could just ask, you know."

"Ah... very true." Klavier gives a sheepish dip of his head. "How... are you feeling?"

"Alive." It may be a strange thing to say in response to a question about emotion, but it's also very true. He feels... _vibrant_ , his whole body seeming to shimmer with strength and energy.

" _Gut_." Klavier tries once more to tame his hair. "Alive is very good."

"It is." Apollo moves over to Athena's side, reaching out to gently touch her shoulder.

Athena opens her eyes, smiling up at him. "Everyone's so... I wish you could hear what I can hear."

Apollo's shoulders relax. "Just so long as _you're_ all right hearing it."

"I am." Athena loops her arms around Apollo, pulling him into a hug that earns a muffled grunt of protest. "Apollo, this is so..."

"I..." Klavier's fingers dance through the air, picking out notes on a guitar or a piano that aren't really there. "Might be able to show?"

For a moment there is something tingling at the edge of Sebastian's awareness—a press of energy, of _knowledge_ , of _people_. The _pack_ is there, Apollo at the center of a web of connections, but also there are _others_ , and—

A whimper slides from his mouth without his meaning to say anything.

"Not yet." Athena speaks quickly, and the pressure disappears. "Not now. Let's all figure out ourselves before we start pushing the boundaries of what we're doing together, all right?"

" _Ja_ , all right. That... is probably a wise decision." Klavier reaches a hand towards Sebastian, his head ducking down, shoulders hunching.

Taking Klavier's hand in his, Sebastian gives it a gentle squeeze. "I think... last night was fun?"

Klavier closes his eyes, humming quietly in the back of his throat. "Last night was _amazing_."

"Having a full pack..." Apollo's voice thickens, and he pauses, clearing his throat. "Thank you guys. So much."

"You don't have anything to thank us for, Justice." Ema stretches.

Gumshoe nods. "We all chose this for ourselves. But it _was_ real nice."

There's the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway, and everyone's eyes shift, attention focusing on the newcomer.

On Edgeworth, and Sebastian's heart seems to leap a little higher in his chest. Edgeworth _stayed_. Or maybe returned? Sebastian has vague memories of Edgeworth's scent last night, of someone touching his head and saying they were so _proud_ of him... his cheeks burn, and he scrambles a little closer to Edgeworth without thinking.

Edgeworth is currently balancing a large stack of clothing in his arms. The clothes have been divided into bundles, each wrapped in its own set of elastic. "Since you all seem to be awake, I thought it best to allow you to dress. Ms. Skye, Ms. Cykes... Prosecutor DeBeste..."

Sebastian accepts his bundle gratefully, immediately fumbling the elastic off and claiming his gloves. Slipping into his boxers and undershirt makes him at least presentable for human company, and he looks up to see everyone else busy dressing, too.

When they're all decent, Edgeworth crosses his arms in front of his chest, drawing their attention again with a small, soft noise. "Those of you who work for me, take what time you need to adapt, but keep me informed of your plans and schedules. Those of you who work for Wright... expect the usual from your boss. He and Trucy are currently ensuring everyone will have breakfast. Those of you who tend to associate with Ms. Skye, Ms. Faraday, Ms. Byrde, or Prosecutor Blackquill... expect a lot of questions when you resume contact, though they have been given the basic gist of the situation."

Athena groans, hiding her face with her hands. "Can I just stay here forever?"

Klavier flashes her a smile. He's donned his pants, but seems to be debating whether he wants to actually wear his shirt or not, despite having donned most of his jewelry. "You're welcome here for as long as you wish, _fraulein_."

Allowing her hands to fall back to her side, Athena picks up her jacket. "The longer I put it off, the harder it'll be for both of us. But I appreciate it the offer of safe haven."

"It's there for all of you." Klavier's voice becomes very grave as his eyes travel over the pack. "It always has been, but especially now—my place is yours."

Edgeworth frowns, fingers drumming against his side. "The same is true of me, of course. And I'm sure Wright will tell you the same. If any of you need anything—or if your families need anything—let us know. We all want this to go well, for a variety of reasons."

"It's gonna go just fine, Mr. Edgeworth." Gumshoe beams at his boss, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. "Look at us! How could it not?"

Edgeworth's eyes slide over the group, and a tiny smile touches the corners of his lips. "You've done well. I have no doubt you'll continue to do so. I need to be heading into the office, but I will be available should anyone need me." Wading through their midst, Edgeworth heads for the front door. He turns right before he exits the room, and his smile is a little more obvious. "Take care of yourselves, Pack Justice. I look forward to working with you in the future."

"Hey, you can't—" Apollo stops as Edgeworth continues to walk away. "We are not going to be Pack Justice."

"Well..." Athena grins. "You _are_ our alpha, so technically we're Justice' pack. Pack Justice seems appropriate."

"No." Apollo buttons up his vest before turning his attention to his shirt sleeves. "We'll figure out another name. But for now... breakfast, everyone?"

Sebastian isn't sure which is louder—the vocal acknowledgments, or the rumblings of empty stomachs. He's fairly certain someone fed them last night, but apparently werewolf metabolism doesn't care.

Gumshoe claps a hand against Sebastian's shoulder. "You doing all right there, pal?"

Sebastian finishes buttoning up his pants—he seems to like more layers to his clothes than most of those present—and looks up. Klavier is waiting just a few steps ahead, watching him; Ema has paused at the doorway leading into the kitchen to look back at them. Athena and Apollo's voices come from the kitchen, Trucy's rising to join them.

"I think..." Sebastian smiles up at the detective who has been his friend for the best years of his life. "I think, right now, that I actually am."

XXX

Sune watches the television screen, rewinding the recording to let it play again.

Even on the recording, Phoenix Wright glows.

It's not the pure glow that it was a decade ago. It's a tested, tempered glow, but it's still _there_. After all he's been through, all he's lost, hope still sizzles and charges the air around him, burning brightest when he delivers proclamations about justice.

He's not perfect, but when has there ever been a perfect vessel?

Reese is the one who enters the room, the woman's footsteps soft on the concrete flooring. She doesn't say anything about what he's watching, which he appreciates. Some of the guards would—some would demand to know why he's watching yet another weeks-old taped news clips—but Reese never does.

Does she want to be here? Is she working with them intentionally? Or has she been twisted into what they need, bent by Chariot and the other bloodlines until she acquiesces to their wishes?

He doesn't know—doesn't know how much she is like him, and how much she agrees with his captors, and right now it doesn't really matter.

Before they can alter him again, make him forget what it is that he's supposed to be doing, what he's supposed to _be_ , he is going to try for escape. If luck is with him, he'll be free by morning; if it's not...

Well, he has a vessel picked out now to send the gift to, and his power being free even if he's not will hopefully make a difference in what is to come.


End file.
